When last I saw this opening rose That holds the summer in its hand, And with its beauty overflows And sweetens half a shire of land, It was a black and cindered thing,

Once we met, and then there came Like a Pentecostal flame, A word; And I said not, Only thought,

The floating call of the cuckoo, Soft little globes of bosom-shaped… Came and went at the window; And, out in the great green world, Those maidens each morn the flower…

(To the Sweet Memory of Lucy Hin… Say not—'She once was fair;' beca… Have changed her beauty to a holie… No girl hath such a lovely face as… That hoards the sweets of many a v…

Her eyes are bluebells now, her vo… And the long sighing grass her ele… She who a woman was is now a star In the high heaven shining down on…

The Décadent was speaking to his… Poor useless thing, he said, Why did God burden me with such a… The body were enough, The body gives me all.

(Obiit Nov. 18, 1909) America grows poorer day by day– Richer and richer, I have heard s… They thought of a poor wealth I d… For, one by one, the men who dream…

(AFTER THE NORWEGIAN… Midnight, and through the blind th… On silver feet across the sleeping… Ah, moonlight, what is this thou a… Her breast, a great sweet lily in…

‘Kiss me, dear Love!’- But there was none to hear, Only the darkness round about my b… And hollow silence, for thy face h… Though in my dreaming it had come…

(TO MRS. HENRY HARLAND) Paris, half Angel, half Grisette, I would that I were with thee yet… Where the long boulevard at even Stretches its starry lamps to heav…

Who will gather with me the fallen… This drift of forgotten forsaken l… Ah! who give ear To the sigh October heaves At summer’s passing by!

Dear Heart, this is my book of bo… The changing story of the wanderin… That found at last its ending in t… The love it sought and sang astray… With wild young heart and happy ea…

What shall I sing when all is sun… And every tale is told, And in the world is nothing young That was not long since old? Why should I fret unwilling ears

(WITH APOLOGIES TO ARIEL… Five inches deep Sir Goldfish lie… Here last September was he laid, Poppies these that were his eyes, Of fish-bones were these bluebells…

O golden day! O silver night! That brought my own true love at l… Ah, wilt thou drop from out our si… And drown within the past? One wave, no more, in life’s wide…