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

If illness’ end be health regained… Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I…

I know Not these my hands And yet I think there was A woman like me once had hands Like these.

Sea-foam And coral! Oh, I’ll Climb the great pasture rocks And dream me mermaid in the sun’s Gold flood.

Nor stars . . the dark . . and in The dark the grey Ghost glimmer of the olive trees The black straight rows Of Cypresses.

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

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

But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. .the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!

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,

The morning is new and the skies a… The day cometh in with the sun and… Hasten, belov’ed! For see, while you were yet sleepi… The cool and virgin feet of dawn w…

In the cold I will rise, I will b… In waters of ice; myself Will shiver, and shrive myself, Alone in the dawn, and anoint Forehead and feet and hands;

The long night through and still a… Estranged from eyes that very wear… Makes blind to dawn.

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!

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

(1) The rose new-opening saith, And the dew of the morning saith, (Fallen leaves and vanished dew) Remember death.