Fugitive, wistful, Pausing at edge of her going, Autumn, the maiden, turns, Leans to the earth with ineffable Gesture. Ah, more than

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

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

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

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

Grey gaolers are my griefs That will not let me free; The bitterness of tears Is warder unto me. I may not leap or run;

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

With night’s Dim veil and blue I will cover my eyes, I will bind close my eyes that are So weary.

If illness’ end be health regained… Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I…

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

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…

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

More dim than wining moon Thy face, mort faint Than is the falling wind Thy voice, yet do Thine eyes most strangely glow,

Wouldst thou find my ashes? Look In the pages of my book; And as these thy hand doth turn, Know here is my funeral urn.

With swift Great sweep of her Magnificent arm my pain Clanged back the doors that shut m… From life.