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.

Behold her, Running through the waves Eager to reach the land; The water laps her, Sun and wind are on her,

Little my lacking fortunes show For this to eat and that to wear; Yet laughing, Soul, and gaily go! An obol pays the Stygian fare. London, 1910

THE old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that… Should weep?

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

Force and bluster? Mighty threate… Scorn I lightly, - Not for these. Tell me when shall great Orion Catch the flying Pleuades?

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

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…

Sun and wind and beat of sea, Great lands stretching endlessly’€… Where be bonds to bind the free? All the world was made for me!

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

Seen on a night in November How frail Above the bulk Of crashing water hangs, Autumn, evanescent, wan,

Never the nightingale, Oh, my dear, Never again the lark Thou wilt hear; Though dusk and the morning still

Oh Lady, let the sad tears fall To speak thy pain, Gently as through the silver dusk The silver rain. Oh, let thy bosom breathe its grie…

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

But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. .the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!