Grey gaolers are my griefs That will not let me free; The bitterness of tears Is warder unto me. I may not leap or run;

Not spring’s Thou art, but hers, Most cool, most virginal, Winter’s, with thy faint breath, t… Rose-tinged.

In your Curled petals what ghosts Of blue headlands and seas, What perfumed immortal breath sigh… Of Greece.

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…

Force and bluster? Mighty threate… Scorn I lightly, - Not for these. Tell me when shall great Orion Catch the flying Pleuades?

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 I went, as I went Over the mountains, I heard, I heard, Through cloud-wreath and mist, A hound that was baying -

Thou hast Drawn laughter from A well of secret tears And thence so elvish it rings, –mo… And sweet.

You nor I nor nobody knows Where our daily-taken breath Vanisheth and vanisheth: Where our lost breath’s flying goe… You nor I nor nobody knows.

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

A flickering light near spent Her pale hand bore. Have you seen Angelique? Will she know the place Dead feet must find,

The sun is warm today, O Romulus, and on Thine older Palentine the birds Still sing.

Every day, Every day, Tell the hours By their shadows, By their shadows.

Fugitive, wistful, Pausing at edge of her going, Autumn, the maiden, turns, Leans to the earth with ineffable Gesture. Ah, more than

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