O, curlew, cry no more in the air,
Or only to the waters in the West
Because your crying brings to my m
Passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy
That was shaken out over my breast

Thought, in that scale of his:
Why should I be dismayed
Though flame had burned the whole
World, as it were a coal,
Now I have seen it weighed

All things uncomely and broken,
All things worn-out and old,
The cry of a child by the roadway,
The creak of a lumbering cart,
The heavy steps of the ploughman,

A Dramatic Poem
The deck of an ancient ship. At
with a large square sail hiding a
on that side. The tiller is at th
coming through an opening in the b

How can I, that girl standing the
My attention fix
On Roman or on Russian
Or on Spanish politics?
Yet here’s a travelled man that kn

Dry timber under that rich foliage
At wine-dark midnight in the sacre
Too old for a man’s love I stood
Imagining men. Imagining that I
A greater with a lesser pang assua

I HEAR the Shadowy Horses, thei
Their hoofs heavy with tumult, the
The North unfolds above them clin
The East her hidden joy before th
The West weeps in pale dew and si

Ancestral Houses
SURELY among a rich man s flowe
Amid the rustle of his planted hil
Life overflows without ambitious p
And rains down life until the basi

‘THOSE Platonists are a curse,’
‘God’s fire upon the wane,
A diagram hung there instead,
More women born than men.’

SAID lady once to lover,
‘None can rely upon
A love that lacks its proper food;
And if your love were gone
How could you sing those songs of