I DREAMED that one had died in
Near no accustomed hand,
And they had nailed the boards abo
The peasants of that land,
Wondering to lay her in that solit

O CLOUD-PALE eyelids, dream-d
The poets labouring all their days
To build a perfect beauty in rhyme
Are overthrown by a woman’s gaze
And by the unlabouring brood of th

FIVE-AND-TWENTY years have g
Since old William Pollexfen
Laid his strong bones down in deat
By his wife Elizabeth
In the grey stone tomb he made.

The heron-billed pale cattle-birds
That feed on some foul parasite
Of the Moroccan flocks and herds
Cross the narrow Straits to light
In the rich midnight of the garden

MY dear, my dear, I know
More than another
What makes your heart beat so;
Not even your own mother
Can know it as I know,

I know, although when looks meet
I tremble to the bone,
The more I leave the door unlatch
The sooner love is gone,
For love is but a skein unwound

If I make the lashes dark
And the eyes more bright
And the lips more scarlet,
Or ask if all be right
From mirror after mirror,

ONCE, when midnight smote the ai
Eunuchs ran through Hell and met
On every crowded street to stare
Upon great Juan riding by:
Even like these to rail and sweat

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,

‘O WORDS are lightly spoken,’
Said Pearse to Connolly,
‘Maybe a breath of politic words
Has withered our Rose Tree;
Or maybe but a wind that blows