Sigh for me$$$ night-wind$$$ in the noisy leaves of the oak.<br>I am tired. Sleep for me$$$ heaven over the hill.<br>Shout for me$$$ loudly and loudly$$$ joyful sun$$$ when you rise.

I know noble accents<br>And lucid$$$ inescapable rhythms;<br>But I know$$$ too$$$<br>That the blackbird is involved<br>In what I know.

Out of this same light$$$ out of the central mind$$$<br>We make a dwelling in the evening air$$$<br>In which being there together is enough.

I was myself the compass of that sea:<br>I was the world in which I walked$$$ and what I saw<br>Or heard or felt came not but from myself;<br>And there I found myself more truly and more strange.

The poem must resist the intelligence<br>Almost successfully.

The reader became the book; and summer night<br>Was like the conscious being of the book.

I wish my father or my mother$$$ or indeed both of them$$$ as they were in duty both equally bound to it$$$ had minded what they were about when they begot me;

I am an Aleut.<br/>"Oh$$$ I've never heard of that."<br/>"That's because we've been fucked over$$$" the big scary Aleut says$$$ "worse than any other people in history."

On a sub$$$ you know$$$ there's no place for things to drain to. The survivors claimed that the blood was knee-deep all through the submarine.

So through no rational process whatsoever I was the leader$$$ and I had no idea what I was going to say.