This afternoon was the colour of w… The trees glittered with the tumbl… The sidewalks shone like alleys of… And the houses ran along them laug… Under a tree in the park,

Happiness, to some, elation; Is, to others, mere stagnation. Days of passive somnolence, At its wildest, indolence. Hours of empty quietness,

Swept, clean, and still, across th… From some unshuttered casement, hi… The level sunshine slants, its gre… Quenching the little lamp which pa… Flickering, unreplenished, at the…

My heart is tuned to sorrow, and t… Vibrate most readily to minor chor… Searching and sad; my mind is stuf… Which voice the passion and the ac… Illusions beating with their baffl…

Throughout the echoing chambers of… I hear your words in mournful cade… Like some slow passing-bell which… Of sundering darkness. Unrelentin… To batter down resistance, fall ag…

Thou dear and well-loved haunt of… How often in some distant gallery, Gained by a little painful spiral… Far from the halls and corridors w… The crowd of casual readers, have…

Before me, On either side of me, I see sand. If I turn the corner of my house, I see sand,

A flickering glimmer through a win… A dim red glare through mud bespat… Cleaving a path between blown wall… Across uneven pavements sunk in sl… To scatter and then quench itself…

As I sit here in the quiet Summer… Suddenly, from the distant road, t… The grind and rush of an electric… And, from still farther off, An engine puffs sharply,

See! I give myself to you, Belove… My words are little jars For you to take and put upon a she… Their shapes are quaint and beauti… And they have many pleasant colour…

Glinting golden through the trees, Apples of Hesperides! Through the moon-pierced warp of n… Shoot pale shafts of yellow light, Swaying to the kissing breeze

They have watered the street, It shines in the glare of lamps, Cold, white lamps, And lies Like a slow-moving river,

April had covered the hills With flickering yellows and reds, The sparkle and coolness of snow Was blown from the mountain beds. Across a deep-sunken stream

“So . . .” they said, With their wine-glasses delicately… Mocking at the thing they cannot u… “So . . .” they said again, Amused and insolent.

The snow whispers around me And my wooden clogs Leave holes behind me in the snow. But no one will pass this way Seeking my footsteps,