‘I used to have dozens of handkerc… Of finest lawn. I used to have silk shirts and fin… He’s like a faun This darling out-at-elbows Irish…

A lady has a thousand ways Of doing nothing all her days, And so she thinks that they’re wel… She can be idle and content. But when I have a holiday

And is love very strong where hono… Would the world ever speak of Lan… Or Tristram’s love had they put h… What would you think if Guinevere… And begged for kisses and had begg…

At ten o’clock the great gong soun… Prelude to splendour. I push back… And all the people leave their boo… Still acquiescent, down the marble… Into the dark where we can’t read.…

You want a lily And you plead with me ‘Give me my lily back.’ I went to see A friend last night and on her man…

I can’t feel the sunshine Or see the stars aright For thinking of her beauty And her kisses bright. She would let me kiss her

I am making great big skirts For great big women’€” Amazons who’ve fed and slept Themselves inhuman. Such long skirts, not less than tw…

He has a fairy wife. He does not know her. She is the heart of the storm, Of the clouds that lower. And as the clouds are torn

Most people have a way of making f… That’s very queer. They don’t choose whom they like,… In some way near. The girl beside them on the factor…

We watched the dawn breaking acros… While just above us hung the eveni… The nearer waters took a hint of w… And clouds and waves together mass… Narrowed our morning world of pall…

My friend declares Being woman and virgin she Takes small account of periodicity And she is right. Her days are calmly spent

She is not of the fireside, My lovely love; Nor books, nor even a cradle, She bends above. No, she is bent with lashes,

I count the days until I see you,… But the days only. I dare not reckon up the nights an… I shall be lonely. But when at last I meet you, dear…

O you, dear trees, you have learne… You must have studied this only th… Men have thought of God and laugh… And of love. And of song. But you, dear trees, from your bir…

All through the day at my machine There still keeps going A strange little tune through hear… As I sit sewing: ‘There is a child in Hungary,