For Aubrey Beardsley’s picture Pierrot is dying: Tiptoe in, Finger touched to lip, Harlequin,

Great Kings were dust and all the… Did my harp’s taut and burnished s… The fragrance of dead ladies’ love… Blew never down but for my lute.

In a cave born (Mary said) In a cave is My Son buried

Look up . . . From bleakening hills Blows down the light, first breath Of wintry wind . . . look up, and… The snow!

‘Let me be young,’ the Latmian sh… ‘And let me have on night-time hil… Whom she of Cynthus saw, Heaven’s… And gave his youth and dreams her… What news comrade upon the mountai…

In your Curled petals what ghosts Of blue headlands and seas, What perfumed immortal breath sigh… Of Greece.

Burdock, Blue aconite, And thistle and thorn. .of these Singing I wreathe my pretty wreat… O’death.

Grey gaolers are my griefs That will not let me free; The bitterness of tears Is warder unto me. I may not leap or run;

Hear thou my lamentation, Eros, Aphrodite’s son! My heart is broken and my days are… Where the woods are dark and the s… Eros!

All day, all day I brush My golden strands of hair; All day I wait and wait.. Ah, who is there? Who calls? Who calls? The gold

To Walter Savage Landor Ah, Walter, where you lived I rue These days come all too late for m… What matter if her eyes were blue Whose rival is Persephone?

Was it love breathed on us as on t… Dawn breathes for a short space an… Or loved we never at all who but m… With too dim vision the guarded my… Were we unfaithful or were we unwi…

Every day, Every day, Tell the hours By their shadows, By their shadows.

I make my shroud, but no one knows… So shimmering fine it is and fair, With stitches set in even rows, I make my shroud, but no one knows… In door-way where the lilac blows,

Listen . . . With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break f… And fall.