‘Let me be young,’ the Latmian sh… ‘And let me have on night-time hil… Whom she of Cynthus saw, Heaven’s… And gave his youth and dreams her… What news comrade upon the mountai…

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

Not thou, White rose, but thy Ensanguined sister is The dear companion of my heart’s Shed blood.

The cold With steely clutch Grips all the land. .alack The little people in the hills Will die!

Burdock, Blue aconite, And thistle and thorn. .of these Singing I wreathe my pretty wreat… O’death.

How can you lie so still? All day… And never a blade of all the green… To show where restlessly you toss… And fling a desperate arm or draw… Stiffened and aching from their lo…

With night’s Dim veil and blue I will cover my eyes, I will bind close my eyes that are So weary.

Reap, reap the grain and gather The sweet grapes from the vine; Our Lord’s mother is weeping, She hath nor bread nor wine; She is weeping. The Queen of Hea…

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

All day, all day I brush My golden strands of hair; All day I wait and wait.. Ah, who is there? Who calls? Who calls? The gold

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.

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

More dim than wining moon Thy face, mort faint Than is the falling wind Thy voice, yet do Thine eyes most strangely glow,

I have no heart for noon-tide and… But I will take me where more ten… Shakes, fold on fold, her dewy dar… And shelters me that I may weep i… And feel no pitying eyes, and hear…

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…