Above the town a monstrous wheel i… With glowing spokes of red, Low in the west its fiery axle bur… And, lost amid the spaces overhead… A vague white moth, the moon, is f…

I am so fair that wheresoe’er I w… Men yearn with strange desire to k… Stretch out their hands to touch m… And women follow me from place to… A poet writing honey of his dear

I know not in what place again I’… The face I love-but there is not… In the wide world where you can wa… Without my finding you, with those… Nor is there any star in all the s…

This is all that is left—this lett… And do you, poor dreaming things,… That your little fire shall burn f… And this great fire be, all but th… Flower! of course she is—but is sh…

‘Alice, Alice, put on your things… The birds are calling, the church… The sun is shining, and I am here… Waiting—and waiting—for you, my de… Alice, Alice, doff your gown of n…

The sun is weary, for he ran So far and fast to-day; The birds are weary, for who sang So many songs as they? The bees and butterflies at last

Always thy book, too late acknowle… Now when thine eyes no earthly pag… Blinded with death, or blinded wit… Of love’s own lore celestial. Sma… Forsooth, for thee to read my eart…

Autumn and Winter, Summer and Spring— Hath Time no other song to sing? Weary we grow of the changeless tu… June—December,

_Lusisti est, et edisti, atque bib… Tempus abire, tibi est._ Take away the dancing girls, quenc… Golden cups and garlands sere, all… Lutes and lyres and Lalage; close…

When winter comes and takes away t… And all the singing of sweet birds… The warm and honeyed world lost de… Still, independent of the summer s… In vain, with sullen roar,

O Lady, I have looked on thee onc… Thou too hast looked on me, as tho… And though the joy was pain, the p… Bliss that more happy lovers well… Captives feast richly on a little…

Away from the silent hills and the… of upland waters, The high still stars and the lonel… in her quarters, I fly to the city, the streets, th…

The gods are there, they hide thei… From you that will not kneel— Worship, and they reveal, Call—and ’tis they! They have not changed, nor moved f…

(TO JAMES WELCH) Dear Desk, Farewell! I spoke you… In phrases neither sweet nor soft, But at the end I come to see That thou a friend hast been to me…

Face in the tomb, that lies so sti… May I draw near, And watch you sleep and love you, Without word or tear? You smile, your eyelids flicker;