Cease smiling, Dear! a little whi… Here in the silence, under the wan… Sweet are thine eyes, but how can… Knowing they change so soon? For Love’s sake, Dear, be silent!…

The cherry-coloured velvet of your… Time hath not soiled: its fair emb… Gleam as when centuries ago they s… To what bright gallant of Her Dai… Whose slender fingers, long since…

All that I had I brought, Little enough I know; A poor rhyme roughly wrought, A rose to match thy snow: All that I had I brought.

All the moon-shed nights are over, And the days of gray and dun; There is neither may nor clover, And the day and night are one. Not an hamlet, not a city

Sleep! Cast thy canopy Over this sleeper’s brain, Dim grow his memory, When he wake again. Love stays a summer night,

Why am I sorry, Chloe? Because t… And who am I to be straitened in… Because thy face is fair? And wha… The fairest face of all is the fac… Because the land is cold, and howe…

Calm, sad, secure; behind high con… These watch the sacred lamp, these… And it is one with them when eveni… And one with them the cold return… These heed not time; their nights…

If we must part, Then let it be like this. Not heart on heart, Nor with the useless anguish of a… But touch mine hand and say:

In your mother’s apple-orchard, Just a year ago, last spring: Do you remember, Yvonne! The dear trees lavishing Rain of their starry blossoms

Here, where the breath of the scen… sun-stained air, On a steep hill-side, on a grassy… and heard Only the faint breeze pass in a wh…

Little lady of my heart! Just a little longer, Love me: we will pass and part, Ere this love grow stronger. I have loved thee, Child! too wel…

This libation, Cupid, take, With the lilies at thy feet; Cherish Pierrot for their sake Send him visions strange and sweet… While he slumbers at thy feet.

A while we wandered (thus it is I… Through a long, sandy track of No… Where only poppies grew among the… The which we, plucking, cast with… And ever sadlier, into the sad str…

They are not long, the weeping and… Love and desire and hate: I think they have no portion in us… We pass the gate. They are not long, the days of win…