ISSUE: Autumn 1958
Things that I loved the most,
They have been given to me—
Flowers on a rocky coast,
Stars hung above the sea,
Grass when the wind and rain
Turned the whole earth to mire,
Leaves where young fauns have lain—
Quiet, beyond desire.
Why should the heart, bereft
Of what it does not know,
Still hold to longing, cleft,
Cloven, and riven so,
Feel, though it says not why—
Ask, with no answer given—
All that is more than sky?
All that is more than heaven?
