He comes from Mass early in the m… The sky’s the very blue Madonna w… The air’s alive with gold! Mark y… The birds sing and the dusted shim… On leaf and fruit?..Per Bacco, wh…

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

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…

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

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;

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

Peter stands by the gate, And Michael by the throne. ‘Peter, I would pass the gate And come before the throne.’ ‘Whose spirit prayed never at the…

A flickering light near spent Her pale hand bore. Have you seen Angelique? Will she know the place Dead feet must find,

I make my shroud, but no one knows… So shimmering fine it is and fair, With stitches set in even rows, I make my shroud, but no one knows… In door-way where the lilac blows,

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

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

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.

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

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

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,