(PARIS) SHE.—“Up and down, up and down, From early eve to early day. Life is quicker in the town; When you’ve leisure, anyway!

. . . In a dark street she met and… Importuning, one wet and mild Mar… We walked and talked together. O… Was very common; thousands know it… ‘Seduced’; a gentleman; a baby com…

‘Susannah and Mary-Jane’ TWO little Darlings alone, Clinging hand in hand; Two little Girls come out To see the wonderful land!

O India, India, O my lovely land… At whose sweet throat the greedy… With fangs and lips that suck and… Clings, while around thee, band by… The loathsome shape twists, chaini…

In that rich Archipelago of sea With fiery hills, thick woods wher… Browses along the trees, and god-l… Leave monuments of speech too larg… There are strange forest-trees. F…

“Yes, let Art go, if it must be That with it men must starve - If Music, Painting, Poetry Spring from the wasted hearth!” Yes, let Art go, till once again

‘My baby girl, that was born and d… ‘WITH wild torn heart I see them… Wee unused clothes and empty cot. Though glad my love has missed the… That falls to woman’s lot.

DOWN in the woodlands, where the… Close to the breezy river, by the… Of ferns and flowers that shun the… But gather round the lizard-haunte… And listen to the birds’ sweet syl…

All the heat and the glow and the…    of the summer afternoon; the scent of the sweet-briar bush    over bowing grass-blades and br… the birds that flit and pass;

CROUCHED in the terrible land, The circle of pitiless ice, With frozen bloody feet And her pestilential summer’s Fever-throb in her brow,

THRO’ the mists of years, Thro’ the lies of men, Your bloody sweat and tears, Your desperate hopes and fears Reach us once again,

IN the chill grey summer dawn-lig… We pass through the empty streets; The rattling wheels are all silent… No friend his fellow greets. Here and there, at the corners,

To Mary Robinson ‘WHAT, are you lost, you pretty… This is no place for such sweet th… Our bodies, rank with sweat, will… And, you’ll observe, our lives are…

BURY me with clenched hands And eyes open wide, For in storm and struggle I lived… And in struggle and storm I died.

(PARIS) I STOOD in Père-la-Chaise. The… Paris, the harlot of the nations,… The bug-bright thing that knows no… Flashing her bare shame to the sum…