The long night through and still a… Estranged from eyes that very wear… Makes blind to dawn.

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!

And the centurion who stood by sai… Truly this was a son of God. Not long ago but everywhere I go There is a hill and a black windy… Portent of hill, sky, day’s eclips…

Wouldst thou find my ashes? Look In the pages of my book; And as these thy hand doth turn, Know here is my funeral urn.

Fate Defied As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad

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…

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

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

Joy! Joy! Joy! The hills are glad, The valleys re-echo with merriment… In my heart is the sound of laught… And my feet dance to the time of i…

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

I have no heart for noon-tide and… But I will take me where more ten… Shakes, fold on fold, her dewy dar… And shelters me that I may weep i… And feel no pitying eyes, and hear…

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

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

‘WHY do You thus devise Evil against her?’ ‘For that She is beautiful, delicate; Therefore.’

I know Not these my hands And yet I think there was A woman like me once had hands Like these.