She bade us listen to the singing… In tones far sweeter than its own: For fear that she should cease and… We built the bird a feigned throne… Shrined in her gracious glory-givi…

She stood-a hill-ensceptred Queen… The glory streaming from her ; While Heaven flashed her rays bet… And shed eternal summer. The gates of morning opened wide

Slow, rigid, is this masquerade That passes as through a difficult… Heavily-heavily passes. What has she fed on? Who her tabl… Through the three seasons? What f…

Your ‘ Youth ’ has fallen from it… And you have fallen, you yourself. They knocked a soldier on the head… I mourn the poet who fell dead. And yet I think it was by chance,

So thy soul’s meekness shrinks, Too loth to show her face– Why should she shun the world? It is a holy place. Concealed to itself

By what pale light or moon-pale sh… Drifts my soul in lonely flight? Regions God had floated o’er Ere He touched the world with lig… Not in Heaven and not in earth

A silver rose to show Is your sweet face; And like the heavens’ white brow, Sometime God’s battle-place, Your blood is quiet now.

Fret the nonchalant noon With your spleen Or your gay brow, For the motion of your spirit Ever moves with these.

Nudes—stark and glistening, Yelling in lurid glee. Grinning f… And raging limbs Whirl over the floor one fire. For a shirt verminously busy

Space beats the ruddy freedom of t… Their naked dances with man’s spir… By the root side of the tree of li… (The under side of things And shut from earth’s profoundest…

I walk and wonder To hear the birds sing, Without you my lady How can there be Spring? I see the pink blossoms

‘ Here are houses,’ he moaned, ‘I could reach, but my brain swims… Then they thundered and flashed, And shook the earth to its rims. ‘They are gunpits,’ he gasped,

As the pregnant womb of night Thrills with imprisoned light, Misty, nebulous-born, Growing deeper into her morn, So man, with no sudden stride,

0, in a world of men and women, Where all things seemed so strange… And speech the common world called… For me was a vain mimicry, I thought-O, am I one in sorrow?

Through these pale cold days What dark faces burn Out of three thousand years, And their wild eyes yearn, While underneath their brows