Parading

If you want to know the correct time,

at the pace of drift

And then he cocked both his pistols and he spit in the dirt

“You can never —”

Corn Dancers rise in a line, follow my calf,

How good to let imagination go,

Let the mirror explain how beautiful you are!

Not that I understand things.

and our breaths on their course of puffs—they kept

Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.