Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,

Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear—head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song,

I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey—seeking, golden—banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I,

YOU are as gold as the half—ripe grain that merges to gold again, as white as the white rain that beats through

White, O white face— from disenchanted days wither alike dark rose and fiery bays: no gift within our hands,

Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down

Bear me to Dictaeus, and to the steep slopes; to the river Erymanthus. I choose spray of dittany, cyperum, frail of flower,

I first tasted under Apollo’s lip… love and love sweetness, I, Evadne; my hair is made of crisp violets or hyacinth which the wind combs b…

O be swift— we have always known you wanted us… We fled inland with our flocks. we pastured them in hollows, cut off from the wind

Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone

Thou art come at length More beautiful Than any cool god In a chamber under Lycia’s far coast,

Stars wheel in purple, yours is no… as Hesperus, nor yet so great a st… as bright Aldeboran or Sirius, nor yet the stained and brilliant… stars turn in purple, glorious to…