These be three silent things: The falling snow . . . the hour Before the dawn . . . the mouth of… Just dead.

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…

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

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

Musicians O Musicians: Heartseas… Heartsease: an you will have me li… Light wind in the small green leav… Play, oh play, my sad heart ease; Birds, shake from your wilding thr…

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

Behold her, Running through the waves Eager to reach the land; The water laps her, Sun and wind are on her,

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,

Seen on a night in November How frail Above the bulk Of crashing water hangs, Autumn, evanescent, wan,

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

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

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

‘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…

Madonna, Madonnina Sat by the grey road-side, Saint Joseph her beside, And Our Lord at her breast; Oh they were fain to rest,

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