Seedy Henry rose up shy in de world

& shaved & swung his barbells, duded Henry up

and p.a.’d poor thousands of persons on topics of grand

moment to Henry, ah to those less & none.

Wif a book of his in either hand

he is stript down to move on.

—Come away, Mr. Bones.

—Henry is tired of the winter,

& haircuts, & a squeamish comfy ruin-prone proud national

mind, & Spring (in the city so called).

Henry likes Fall.

Hé would be prepared to líve in a world of Fáll

for ever, impenitent Henry.

But the snows and summers grieve & dream;

thése fierce & airy occupations, and love,

raved away so many of Henry’s years

it is a wonder that, with in each hand

one of his own mad books and all,

ancient fires for eyes, his head full

& his heart full, he’s making ready to move on.