And the days are not full enough And the nights are not full enough And life slips by like a field mouse Not shaking the grass.

I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox

and which you were probably saving for breakfast.

Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold.

I went out on an April morning All alone, for my heart was high, I was a child of the shining meadow, I was a sister of the sky.

There in the windy flood of morning Longing lifted its weight from me, Lost as a sob in the midst of cheering, Swept as a sea-bird out to sea.