The bards falter in shame, their r… Stumbles, with marrow—bones the dr… Pelt them for their delay. It is a something fearful in the s… Plagues them —an unknown grief tha…
Small gnats that fly In hot July And lodge in sleeping ears, Can rouse therein A trumpet’s din
Entrance and exit wounds are silve… The track aches only when the rain… The one—legged man forgets his leg… The one—armed man his jointed wood… The blinded man sees with his ears…
Caria and Philistia considered Only pre—marital adventures wise; The bourgeois French argue contra… Socrate and Plato burked the issu… (Namely, how man—and—woman love sh…
Henry, Henry, do you love me? Do I love you, Mary? Oh, can you mean to liken me To the aspen tree. Whose leaves do shake and vary,
‘Gabble—gabble, . . . brethren, .… My window frames forest and heathe… I hardly hear the tuneful babble, Not knowing nor much caring whethe… The text is praise or exhortation,
Thick and scented daisies spread Where with surface dull like lead Arabian pools of slime invite Manticors down from neighbouring h… To dip heads, to cool fiery blood
Are you shaken, are you stirred By a whisper of love, Spellbound to a word Does Time cease to move, Till her calm grey eye
Strawberries that in gardens grow Are plump and juicy fine, But sweeter far as wise men know Spring from the woodland vine. No need for bowl or silver spoon,
The youngest poet down the shelves… In a dim library, just behind the… From which the ancient poet was mu… A song about some Lovers at a Fai… Pulling his long white beard and g…
Can I find True—Love a gift In this dark hour to restore her, When body’s vessel breaks adrift, When hope and beauty fade before h… But in this plight I cannot think
Down, wanton, down! Have you no s… That at the whisper of Love’s nam… Or Beauty’s, presto! up you raise Your angry head and stand at gaze? Poor Bombard—captain, sworn to re…
He is quick, thinking in clear ima… I am slow, thinking in broken imag… He becomes dull, trusting to his c… I become sharp, mistrusting my bro… Trusting his images, he assumes th…
Oh, what a heavy sigh! Dicky, are you ailing? Even by this fireside, mother, My heart is failing. To—night across the down,
Lovers in the act dispense With such meum-teum sense As might warningly reveal What they must not pick or steal, And their nostrum is to say: