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

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

As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O Fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad Like the moon.

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…

Not thou, White rose, but thy Ensanguined sister is The dear companion of my heart’s Shed blood.

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

THE old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that… Should weep?

Heard ye the maidens Went through the meadows, Early, O, early, While yet the dew was Wet on the grass?

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

As I went, as I went Over the mountains, I heard, I heard, Through cloud-wreath and mist, A hound that was baying -

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.

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

Hear thou my lamentation, Eros, Aphrodite’s son! My heart is broken and my days are… Where the woods are dark and the s… Eros!

Pain ebbs, And like cool balm, An opiate weariness Settles on eye-lids, on relaxed Pale wrists.

The morning is new and the skies a… The day cometh in with the sun and… Hasten, belov’ed! For see, while you were yet sleepi… The cool and virgin feet of dawn w…