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

O mia Luna! Porta mi fortuna! (You must say it nine times, curts… In rose-pale, fading blue of twili… See, the new moon’s thin crescent… Nine times I’ll curtsey murmuring…

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,

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

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

He comes from Mass early in the m… The sky’s the very blue Madonna w… The air’s alive with gold! Mark y… The birds sing and the dusted shim… On leaf and fruit?..Per Bacco, wh…

Dost thou Not feel them slip, How cold! how cold! the moon’s Thin wavering finger-tips, along Thy throat?

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

JUST now, Out of the strange Still dusk . . . as strange, as st… A white moth flew . . . Why am I… So cold?

A laggard in the rear of time’s sw… And one who loiters on an aimless… Through lands he knows not; lured… In secret paths where silence hold… And rust ascending wings. Roads m…

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

Meet thou the event And terrible happening of Thine end: for thou art come Upon the remote, cold place Of ultimate dissolution and

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…

Oh me, Was there a time When Paradise knew Eve In this sweet guise, so placid and

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