Beauty has a tarnished dress, And a patchwork cloak of cloth Dipped deep in mournfulness, Striped like a moth. Wet grass where it trails

Ah, love, within the shadow of the… The laurels are cut down; some oth… May bear the classic wreath which… And find the burden honorable and… Have we not passed the laurels as…

The headlights raced; the moon, de… Stared down on that golden river. I saw through the smoke the scarle… Of a boy who could not shiver. His father’s hand forced him to st…

Let us quarrel for these reasons: You detest the salt which seasons My speech . . . and all my lights… In the cold poison of your doubt. I love Shelley . . . you love Kea…

Say not of beauty she is good, Or aught but beautiful, Or sleek to doves’ wings of the wo… Her wild wings of a gull. Call her not wicked; that word’s t…

When against earth a wooden heel Clicks as loud as stone on steel, When stone turns flour instead of… And frost bakes clay as fire bakes… When the hard-bitten fields at las…

The old moon is tarnished With smoke of the flood, The dead leaves are varnished With colour like blood. A treacherous smiler

Once, when my husband was a child,… To his father’s table, one who cal… In sunbleached corduroys paler tha… His look was grave and kind; he bo… Of the dead singer of Senlac, and…

Poets make pets of pretty, docile… I love smooth words, like gold-ena… Which circle slowly with a silken… And tender ones, like downy-feathr… Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed d…

The icicles wreathing On trees in festoon Swing, swayed to our breathing: They’re made of the moon. She’s a pale, waxen taper;

Liza, go steep your long white han… In the cool waters of that spring Which bubbles up through shiny san… The colour of a wild-dove’s wing. Dabble your hands, and steep them…

Here’s a wonderful thing, A humming-bird’s wing In hammered gold, And store well chosen Of snowflakes frozen

Stripping an almond tree in flower The wise apothecary’s skill A single drop of lethal power From perfect sweetness can distill From bitterness in efflorescence,

When foxes eat the last gold grape… And the last white antelope is kil… I shall stop fighting and escape Into a little house I’ll build. But first I’ll shrink to fairy si…

For this you’ve striven Daring, to fail: Your sky is riven Like a tearing veil. For this, you’ve wasted