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

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

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

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…

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

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

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,

Listen . . . With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break f… And fall.

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.

White doves of Cytherea, by your… Across the blue Heaven’s bluest h… And by your certain homing to Lov… Still to be true and ever true -…

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

Sun and wind and beat of sea, Great lands stretching endlessly’€… Where be bonds to bind the free? All the world was made for me!

As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O Fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad Like the moon.

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

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