At midnight, when the moonlit cypr… Have woven round his grave a magic… Still weeping the unfinished hymn… There moves fresh Maia, like a mo… Blown over jonquil beds when warm…

Lyric night of the lingering Indi… Shadowy fields that are scentless… Never a bird, but the passionless… Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper’s horn, and far of…

WE will never walk again As we used to walk at night, Watching our shadows lengthen Under the gold street-light When the snow was new and white.

I. Spirit’s House From naked stones of agony I will build a house for me; As a mason all alone I will raise it, stone by stone,

What do I care, in the dreams and… That my songs do not show me at al… For they are a fragrance, and I a… I am an answer, they are only a ca… But what do I care, for love will…

Shall we, too, rise forgetful from… And shall my soul that lies within… Remember nothing, as the blowing s… Forgets the palm where long blue s… When winds along the darkened dese…

I am wild, I will sing to the tre… I will sing to the stars in the sk… I love, I am loved, he is mine, Now at last I can die! I am sandaled with wind and with f…

OH Earth, you are too dear to-nig… How can I sleep while all around Floats rainy fragrance and the far Deep voice of the ocean that talks… Oh Earth, you gave me all I have,

I must have passed the crest a whi… And now I am going down— Strange to have crossed the crest… But the brambles were always grabb… All the morning I thought how pro…

I plucked a snow-drop in the sprin… And in my hand too closely pressed… The warmth had hurt the tender thi… I grieved to see it withering. I gave my love a poppy red,

Her voice is like clear water That drips upon a stone In forests far and silent Where Quiet plays alone. Her thoughts are like the lotus

Were you a Greek when all the wor… Before the weary years that pass a… Had scattered all the temples on t… Before the moss to marble columns… I think your snowy tunic must have…

O mother, I am sick of love, I cannot laugh nor lift my head, My bitter dreams have broken me, I would my love were dead. “Drink of the draught I brew for…

The birds are all a-building, They say the world’s a-flower, And still I linger lonely Within a barren bower. I weave a web of fancies