Many are the doors of the spirit t… Into the inmost shrine: And I count the gates of the temp… Since the god of the place is God… And these are the gates that God…

We judge by appearance merely: If I can’t think strangely, I can… So I grew the hair so long on my… That my mother wouldn’t know me, Till a woman in a night-club said,

Old ghosts that death forgot to fe… Across the Lethe of the years - These are my friends, and at their… I weep and with their mirth am mer… On a high tower, whose battlements

All fly—yet who is misanthrope?— The actual men and things that pas… Jostling, to wither as the grass So soon: and (be it heaven’s hope, Or poetry’s kaleidoscope,

In the middle of countries, far fr… Are the little places one passes b… And never stops at; where the skie… Uninterrupted, and the level plain… Stretch green and yellow and green…

Darkness had stretched its colour, Deep blue across the pane: No cloud to make night duller, No moon with its tarnish stain; But only here and there a star,

Day after day, At spring’s return, I watch my flowers, how they burn Their lives away. The candle crocus

There is a country in my mind, Lovelier than a poet blind Could dream of, who had never know… This world of drought and dust and… In all its ugliness: a place

My green aquarium of phantom fish, Goggling in on me through the mist… My rotting leaves and fields spong… My few clear quiet autumn days—I… I could leave all, clearness and m…

Spring is past and over these many… Spring and summer. The leaves of… Yellowing afid all but dead on the… Nor is there any hope in me. I wa… Slowly homeward. Night is as empt…

Thought is an unseen net wherein o… Is taken and vainly struggles to b… Words, that should loose our spiri… New fetters on our hoped-for liber… And action bears us onward like a…

The eyes of the portraits on the w… Look at me, follow me, Stare incessantly: I take it their glance means nothi… —Clearly, oh clearly! Nothing at…

A petal drifted loose From a great magnolia bloom, Your face hung in the gloom, Floating, white and close. We seemed alone: but another

Evenings in trains, When the little black twittering g… Along the brims of cuttings, Against the luminous sky, Interrupt with their hurrying rumo…