WHY do I look for fire to brand… What do I need, when all within i… And lo, she comes, carrying the li… And branding tool—she who is my de… What need have I for what is in h…

MY eyelids red and heavy arc With bending o’er the smold’ring p… I know the Aeneid now by heart, My Virgil read in cold and heat, In loneliness and hunger smart.

OVER old walls the Laburnums hang cones of fire; Laburnums that grow out of old mould in old gardens: Old maids and old men who have sav…

SANDALWOOD, you say, and in y… With Tyre and Solomon; to me it r… With places bare upon Pacific mou… With spaces empty in the minds of… Sandalwood!

THE Thrush, the Lark, and, chief… With one small bird whose name I… Offered a Mass; the little bird w… At intervals he struck his silver… The stars above that were but whit…

HERE Pilate’s Court is: None may clatter nor call Where the Wolf giving suck To the Twins glares on all ‘Strip Him and scourge Him

I’LL be an otter, and I’ll let y… A mate beside me; we will venture… A deep, full river when the sky ab… Is shut of the sun; spoilers are w… Thick-coated; no dog’s tooth can b…

HE knows Queen Lab, her isle, And black, enormous Kaf, The Swallow, and 'Allah’ He cries As into Giaour lands

THE City clocks point out the ho… They look like moons on their dark… And I who was shown my destinatio… Thrice, but have no sense of locat… Am back again at one or the other

‘I KNOW where I’d get An ass that would do, If I had the money A pound or two.’ Said a ragged man

‘BELOW there are white-faced thr… Their march is a tide coming High… Below there are white-faced throng… Their faith is a banner flung high… Below there are white-faced throng…

IT’S my fear that my wake won’t b… Nor my wake house a silent place: For who would keep back the hundre… Who would touch my breast and my f… For the good men were always my fr…

THE great ship lantern-girdled. The tender standing by; The waning stars cloud-shrouded, The land that we descry! That pale land is our homeland,

AND that was when the chevaldour Through the whole of night Sang, for the moon of mid-July Made the hillside bright. Morfydd to David ap Gwillam spoke

FOR the poor body that I own I could weep many a tear: The days have stolen flesh and bon… And left a changeling here. Four feeble bones are left to me,