Wouldst thou find my ashes? Look In the pages of my book; And as these thy hand doth turn, Know here is my funeral urn.

My songs to sell, sweet maid! I pray you buy. Here’s one will win a lady’s tears… Here’s one will make her gay, Here’s one will charm your true lo…

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

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

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…

A-sway, On red rose, A golden butterfly. . And on my heart a butterfly Night-wing’d.

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;

Three grey women walk with me Fate and Grief and Memory. My fate brought grief; my grief mu… With me through Eternity, Such thy power, memory.

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…

Meet thou the event And terrible happening of Thine end: for thou art come Upon the remote, cold place Of ultimate dissolution and

THE old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that… Should weep?

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

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

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

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