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

These be three silent things: The falling snow . . . the hour Before the dawn . . . the mouth of… Just dead.

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.

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

What words Are left thee then Who hast squandered on thy Forgetfulness eternity’s I Love?

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

Madonna, Madonnina Sat by the grey road-side, Saint Joseph her beside, And Our Lord at her breast; Oh they were fain to rest,

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;

How can you lie so still? All day… And never a blade of all the green… To show where restlessly you toss… And fling a desperate arm or draw… Stiffened and aching from their lo…

Pain ebbs, And like cool balm, An opiate weariness Settles on eye-lids, on relaxed Pale wrists.

Nor stars . . the dark . . and in The dark the grey Ghost glimmer of the olive trees The black straight rows Of Cypresses.

If illness’ end be health regained… Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I…

‘Boy, lying Where the long grass Edges the pool’s brim, What do you watch There in the water? The blue

More dim than wining moon Thy face, mort faint Than is the falling wind Thy voice, yet do Thine eyes most strangely glow,

So may you sleep alway, My baby, my dear son: Amen, Amen, Amen. My baby, my dear son.