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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A-sway, On red rose, A golden butterfly. . And on my heart a butterfly Night-wing’d.

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

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,

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

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

Avis, the fair, at dawn Rose lightly from her bed, Herself arrayed, Avis, the fait, the maid, In vestiment of lawn;

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.