Nor stars . . the dark . . and in The dark the grey Ghost glimmer of the olive trees The black straight rows Of Cypresses.

Little Sister Rose-Marie, Will thy feet as willing-light Run through Paradise, I wonder, As they run the blue skies under, Willing feet, so airy-light?

If it Were lighter touch Than petal of flower resting On grass, oh still too heavy it we… Too heavy!

‘WHY do You thus devise Evil against her?’ ‘For that She is beautiful, delicate; Therefore.’

Lo, how they weave– the imperturba… Those threads that are my destiny: Steadily at the eternal task they’… Industrious . . . indifferent . .… Weave, Fates! And what your spins…

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

Heard ye the maidens Went through the meadows, Early, O, early, While yet the dew was Wet on the grass?

Pain ebbs, And like cool balm, An opiate weariness Settles on eye-lids, on relaxed Pale wrists.

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.

Lo, All the Way, Look you, I said, the clouds will… Grow clear, the road Be easier for my travelling the fi… So sodden and dead,

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,

Fate Defied As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad

Avis, the fair, at dawn Rose lightly from her bed, Herself arrayed, Avis, the fait, the maid, In vestiment of lawn;

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

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