When Loie Fuller’s Chinese dance… A shining web, a floating ribbon o… It seemed that a dragon of air Had fallen among dancers, had whir… Or hurried them off on its own fur…

Things out of perfection sail, And all their swelling canvas wear… Nor shall the self-begotten fail Though fantastic men suppose Building-yard and stormy shore,

COME play with me; Why should you run Through the shaking tree As though I’d a gun To strike you dead?

PICTURE and book remain, An acre of green grass For air and exercise, Now strength of body goes; Midnight, an old house

The true faith discovered was When painted panel, statuary. Glass-mosaic, window-glass, Amended what was told awry By some peasant gospeller;

THREE old hermits took the air By a cold and desolate sea, First was muttering a prayer, Second rummaged for a flea; On a windy stone, the third,

HERE is fresh matter, poet, Matter for old age meet; Might of the Church and the State… Their mobs put under their feet. O but heart’s wine shall run pure,

ONE had a lovely face, And two or three had charm, But charm and face were in vain Because the mountain grass Cannot but keep the form

COME swish around, my pretty pun… And keep me dancing still That I may stay a sober man Although I drink my fill. Sobriety is a jewel

HOW came this ranger Now sunk in rest, Stranger with strangcr. On my cold breast? What’s left to Sigh for?

Pardon, old fathers, if you still… Somewhere in ear-shot for the stor… Old Dublin merchant “free of the… Or trading out of Galway into Spa… Old country scholar, Robert Emmet…

Under the Great Comedian’s tomb t… A bundle of tempestuous cloud is b… About the sky; where that is clear… Brightness remains; a brighter sta… What shudders run through all that…