BELOVED, gaze in thine own hear
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they
The changing colours of its fruit

DO you not hear me calling, white
I have been changed to a hound wit
I have been in the Path of Stones
For somebody hid hatred and hope a
Under my feet that they follow you

DEAR fellow-artist, why so free
With every sort of company,
With every Jack and Jill?
Choose your companions from the be
Who draws a bucket with the rest

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 sing what was lost and dread wha
I walk in a battle fought over aga
My king a lost king, and lost sold
Feet to the Rising and Setting ma
They always beat on the same small

YOU think it horrible that lust a
Should dance attention upon my old
They were not such a plague when
What else have I to spur me into

SOME may have blamed you that yo
The verses that could move them on
When, the ears being deafened, the
With lightning, you went from me,
Nothing to make a song about but k

‘Lay me in a cushioned chair;
Carry me, ye four,
With cushions here and cushions th
To see the world once more.
’To stable and to kennel go;

AH, that Time could touch a form
That could show what Homer’s age
Bred to be a hero’s wage.
‘Were not all her life but storm,
Would not painters paint a form

I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the he