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

Art thou Not kin to him Who loved Mark’s wife and both Died for it? O, thou harper in Green woods?

Keep thou Thy tearless watch All night but when blue-dawn Breathes on the silver moon, then… Then weep!

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

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.

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

Thou beautiful and ivory gates That shut my tears away from me - Even, at last, such refuge yield That great, safe doors of Ebony.

If it Were lighter touch Than petal of flower resting On grass, oh still too heavy it we… Too heavy!

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

Well and If day on day Follows and weary year On year . . . and ever days and ye… Well?

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…

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

White doves of Cytherea, by your… Across the blue Heaven’s bluest h… And by your certain homing to Lov… Still to be true and ever true -…

The sun is warm today, O Romulus, and on Thine older Palentine the birds Still sing.

In the cold I will rise, I will b… In waters of ice; myself Will shiver, and shrive myself, Alone in the dawn, and anoint Forehead and feet and hands;