The heart of the rose-how sweet Its fragrance to drain, Till the greedy brain Reels and grows faint With the garnered scent,

_You that would break with the Pa… Why with so rude a gesture take yo… None hinders, go your way; but whe… Contempt and boorish scorn Upon the womb from which even you…

Why did she marry him? Ah, say wh… How was her fancy caught? What was the dream that he drew he… Or was she only bought? Gave she her gold for a girlish wh…

Songs I sang of lordly matters, Life and death, and stars and sea; Nothing of them now remains But the song I sang for thee. Vain the learned elaborate metres,

When the long day has faded to its… The flowers gone, and all the sing… And there is no companion left sav… Ah! there is one, Though in her grave she lies this…

Yea, love, I know, and I would ha… I know that not for us Is springtide Passion with his fi… I know this love of ours Lives not, nor yet may live,

(TO MRS. PERCY DEARMER) A poet hungered, as well he might– Not a morsel since yesternight! And sad he grew—good reason why— For the poet had nought wherewith…

Bring not your dreams to me— Blown dust, and vapour, and the ru… Saying, ‘He, too, doth dream, Touched of the moon.’ Nay! wouldst thou vanish see

Let’s go to market in the moon, And buy some dreams together, Slip on your little silver shoon, And don your cap and feather; No need of petticoat or stocking—

Poet, whose words are like the tig… Sealed in the capsule of a silver… Still at your art we wonder as we… The art dynamic charging each word… Seeds of the silver flower of Eme…

War I abhor, And yet how sweet The sound along the marching stree… Of drum and fife, and I forget

‘We’re going home!' I heard two l… They kissed their friends and bade… I hid the deadly hunger in my eyes… And, lest I might have killed the… Ah, love! we too once gambolled ho…

I see fair women all the day, They pass and pass-and go; I almost dream that they are shade… Within a shadow-show. Their beauty lays no hand on me,

Waiting in the woodland, watching… Thinking every leaf that stirs the… Thinking every whisper the rustle… How my heart goes up and up, and t… First it is a squirrel, then it is…

‘This hot, hard flame with which o… Will make some meadow blaze with d… Ay! and those argent breasts of th… To water-lilies; the brown fields… Will be more fruitful for our love…