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

The clustered Gods, the marching… The mighty-limbed, deep-bosomed T… The shimmering grey-gold London f… I wish that Phidias could see!

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

JUST now, Out of the strange Still dusk . . . as strange, as st… A white moth flew . . . Why am I… So cold?

Too far afield thy search. Nay, t… At thine own elbow potent Memory… Thy double, and eternity is cupped In the pale hollow of those ghostl…

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

O mia Luna! Porta mi fortuna! (You must say it nine times, curts… In rose-pale, fading blue of twili… See, the new moon’s thin crescent… Nine times I’ll curtsey murmuring…

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

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

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

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

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

Look up . . . From bleakening hills Blows down the light, first breath Of wintry wind . . . look up, and… The snow!

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;

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