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

No guile? Nay, but so strangely He moves among us. . Not this Man but Barabbas! Release to us Barabbas!

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

Burdock, Blue aconite, And thistle and thorn. .of these Singing I wreathe my pretty wreat… O’death.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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…

The immemorial grief of all years Burdes my heart sorely, and the ye… Of slow eternal crying stain my ch… Forever and forever my soul speaks Saying: I am thy self: Look on me…