Too far afield thy search. Nay, t… At thine own elbow potent Memory… Thy double, and eternity is cupped In the pale hollow of those ghostl…

Seen on a night in November How frail Above the bulk Of crashing water hangs, Autumn, evanescent, wan,

Great Kings were dust and all the… Did my harp’s taut and burnished s… The fragrance of dead ladies’ love… Blew never down but for my lute.

As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O Fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad Like the moon.

Well and If day on day Follows and weary year On year . . . and ever days and ye… Well?

For Aubrey Beardsley’s picture Pierrot is dying: Tiptoe in, Finger touched to lip, Harlequin,

These be three silent things: The falling snow . . . the hour Before the dawn . . . the mouth of… Just dead.

Keep thou Thy tearless watch All night but when blue-dawn Breathes on the silver moon, then… Then weep!

Never the nightingale, Oh, my dear, Never again the lark Thou wilt hear; Though dusk and the morning still

Was it love breathed on us as on t… Dawn breathes for a short space an… Or loved we never at all who but m… With too dim vision the guarded my… Were we unfaithful or were we unwi…

Than spring’s new scents The winter’s earliest wind Blows from the hills the first fai… Of Snow. Why have I

To Walter Savage Landor Ah, Walter, where you lived I rue These days come all too late for m… What matter if her eyes were blue Whose rival is Persephone?

With swift Great sweep of her Magnificent arm my pain Clanged back the doors that shut m… From life.

Ere the horne’d owl hoot Once and twice and thrice there sh… Go among the blind brown worms News of thy great burial; When the pomp is passed away,

I have minded me Of the noon-day brightness, And the cricket’s drowsy Singing in the sunshine. . I have minded me