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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529053" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>She</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529053" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I think the dead are tender. Shall we kiss? --<br>My lady laughs, delighting in what is.<br>If she but sighs, a bird puts out its tongue.<br>She makes space lonely with a lovely song.<br>She lilts a low soft language, and I hear<br>Down long sea-chambers of the inner ear.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529053" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">We sing together; we sing mouth to mouth.<br>The garden is a river flowing south.<br>She cries out loud the soul's own secret joy;<br>She dances, and the ground bears her away.<br>She knows the speech of light, and makes it plain<br>A lively thing can come to life again.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529053" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I feel her presence in the common day, <br>In that slow dark that widens every eye.<br>She moves as water moves, and comes to me,<br>Stayed by what was, and pulled by what would be.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Theodore+Roethke">Theodore Roethke</a></strong></div>

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