Though thou well dost wish me ill Audiart, Audiart, Where thy bodice laces start As ivy fingers clutching through Its crevices,

Aye! I am a poet and upon my tomb Shall maidens scatter rose leaves And men myrtles, ere the night Slays day with her dark sword. ‘Lo! this thing is not mine

The family position was waning, And on this account the little Au… Who had laughed on eighteen summer… Now bears the palsied contact of…

Let some new lying ass, Who knows not what is or was, Talk economics, Pay for his witless noise, Get the kid nice new toys,

To So-Kin of Rakuyo, ancient fri… Gen. Now I remember that you built me… By the south side of the bridge at… With yellow gold and white jewels,…

Golden rose the house, in the port… thee, a marvel, carven in subtle s… portent. Life died down in the lam… caught at the wonder. Crimson, frosty with dew, the rose…

Beautiful, tragical faces’€” Ye that were whole, and are so sun… And, O ye vile, ye that might hav… That are so sodden and drunken, Who hath forgotten you?

Your mind and you are our Sargass… London has swept about you this sc… And bright ships left you this or… Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all… Strange spars of knowledge and dim…

Thy soul Grown delicate with satieties, Atthis. O Atthis, I long for thy lips.

The gilded phaloi of the crocuses are thrusting at the spring air. Here is there naught of dead gods But a procession of festival, A procession, Giulio Romano,

For three years, out of key with h… He strove to resuscitate the dead… Of poetry; to maintain “the sublim… In the old sense. Wrong from the… No, hardly, but, seeing he had bee…

“Tout aux tavernes et aux filles.” Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-j… Or fake the broads? or fig a nag? Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack? Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?

Or ever the knightly years were go… With the old world to the grave, I was a King in Babylon And you were a Christian Slave. I saw, I took, I cast you by,

‘€˜Being no longer human, why shou… Pretend humanity or don the frail… Men have I known and men, but nev… Was grown so free an essence, or b… So simply element as what I am.

Her grave, sweet haughtiness Pleaseth me, and in like wise Her quiet ironies. Others are beautiful, none more, s… I suppose, when poetry comes down…