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

You nor I nor nobody knows Where our daily-taken breath Vanisheth and vanisheth: Where our lost breath’s flying goe… You nor I nor nobody knows.

Scarlet the poppies Blue the corn-flowers, Golden the wheat. Gold for the Eternal: Blue for Our Lady:

Sea-foam And coral! Oh, I’ll Climb the great pasture rocks And dream me mermaid in the sun’s Gold flood.

I have minded me Of the noon-day brightness, And the cricket’s drowsy Singing in the sunshine. . I have minded me

Avis, the fair, at dawn Rose lightly from her bed, Herself arrayed, Avis, the fait, the maid, In vestiment of lawn;

The sun is warm today, O Romulus, and on Thine older Palentine the birds Still sing.

Not spring’s Thou art, but hers, Most cool, most virginal, Winter’s, with thy faint breath, t… Rose-tinged.

Still as On windless nights The moon-cast shadows are, So still will be my heart when I Am dead.

Is it as plainly in our living sho… By slant and twist, which way the…

A flickering light near spent Her pale hand bore. Have you seen Angelique? Will she know the place Dead feet must find,

Guardian Of The Treasure Of Sol… And Keeper Of the Prophet’s Armo… My tent A vapour that The wind dispels and but

Lo, how they weave– the imperturba… Those threads that are my destiny: Steadily at the eternal task they’… Industrious . . . indifferent . .… Weave, Fates! And what your spins…

Reap, reap the grain and gather The sweet grapes from the vine; Our Lord’s mother is weeping, She hath nor bread nor wine; She is weeping. The Queen of Hea…

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