I would not alter thy cold eyes, Nor trouble the calm fount of spee… With aught of passion or surprise. The heart of thee I cannot reach: I would not alter thy cold eyes!

COLLOQUE SENTIMENTAL Into the lonely park all frozen fa… Awhile ago there were two forms wh… Lo, are their lips fallen and thei… Hardly shall a man hear the words…

Love heeds no more the sighing of… Against the perfect flowers: thy g… Is grown a wilderness, where none… One strayed, last petal of one las… O bright, bright hair! O mouth li…

The wisdom of the world said unto… ‘_Go forth and run, the race is to… Perchance some honour tarrieth for… ‘As tarrieth,’ I said, ‘for sure,… For I had pondered on a rune of r…

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:

Mark the day white, on which the… Eugenio and Egeria have a child. On whom abundant grace kind Jove… If she but copy either parent’s pa… Then, Muses! long devoted to her…

We have walked in Love’s land a l… We have learnt his lesson a little… And shall we not part at the end o… With a sigh, a smile? A little while in the shine of the…

I was always a lover of ladies’ ha… Or ever mine heart came here to tr… For the sake of your carved white… The tapering fingers, the dainty w… The hands of a girl were what I k…

Through what long heaviness, assay… Have these white monks been brough… Despising the world’s wisdom and t… Which from the body of this death… Within their austere walls no voic…

Even now the fragrant darkness of… Had brushed my cheek; and once, in… Her hand upon my hand lay tranquil… What things unspoken trembled in t… Always I know, how little severs…

Strange grows the river on the sun… The river comforts me, grown spect… Long was the day; at last the cons… _Sufficient for the day are the da… Labour and longing and despair the…

I took her dainty eyes, as well As silken tendrils of her hair: And so I made a Villanelle! I took her voice, a silver bell, As clear as song, as soft as praye…

Tears fall within mine heart, As rain upon the town: Whence does this languor start, Possessing all mine heart? O sweet fall of the rain

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

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: