Like Heaven's free breath, which he who grasps can hold not
Like helpless birds in the warm nest
Like iridescent bubbles floating on a foul stream
Like kindred drops mingled into one
Like laying a burden on the back of a moth
Like lead his feet were
Like leaves in wintry weather
Like leviathans afloat
Like lighting a candle to the sun
Like making a mountain out of a mole-hill
Like mariners pulling the life-boat
Like mice that steal in and out as if they feared the light
Like mountain over mountain huddled
Like mountain streams we meet and part
Like music on the water
Like notes which die when born, but still haunt the echoes of the hill
Like oceans of liquid silver
Like one pale star against the dusk, a single diamond on her brow gleamed with imprisoned fire
Like one who halts with tired wings
Like one who talks of what he loves in dream
Like organ music came the deep reply
Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream
Like phantoms gathered by the sick imagination
Like planets in the sky
Like pouring oil on troubled waters
Like roses that in deserts bloom and die
Like rowing upstream against a strong downward current
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