The poet pursues his beautiful the… The preacher his golden beatitude; And I run after a vanishing dream… The glittering, will-o’-the-wispis… Of the properly scholarly attitude…

And the centurion who stood by sai… Truly this was a son of God. Not long ago but everywhere I go There is a hill and a black windy… Portent of hill, sky, day’s eclips…

Art thou Not kin to him Who loved Mark’s wife and both Died for it? O, thou harper in Green woods?

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

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

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

When I was girl by Nilus stream I watched the deserts stars arise; My lover, he who dreamed the Sphi… Learned all his dreaming from eyes… I bore in Greece a burning name,

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

Little my lacking fortunes show For this to eat and that to wear; Yet laughing, Soul, and gaily go! An obol pays the Stygian fare. London, 1910

Joy! Joy! Joy! The hills are glad, The valleys re-echo with merriment… In my heart is the sound of laught… And my feet dance to the time of i…

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

Dost thou Not feel them slip, How cold! how cold! the moon’s Thin wavering finger-tips, along Thy throat?

The clustered Gods, the marching… The mighty-limbed, deep-bosomed T… The shimmering grey-gold London f… I wish that Phidias could see!

What words Are left thee then Who hast squandered on thy Forgetfulness eternity’s I Love?

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