‘Not a child: I call myself a bo… Says my king, with accent stern ye… Now nine years have brought him ch… ‘Not a child.’ How could reason be so far beguile…

THIS FELL when Christmas light… Red rose leaves will never make wi… But before the Easter lights begu… The ways are sair fra’ the Till t… Two lovers sat where the rowan blo…

A baby shines as bright If winter or if May be On eyes that keep in sight A baby. Though dark the skies or grey be,

Low lies the mere beneath the moor… And glad of silence: down the woo… To the utmost verge where fed with… Low lies the mere. The wind speaks only summer: eye…

Ask nothing more of me, sweet; All I can give you I give. Heart of my heart, were it more, More would be laid at your feet: Love that should help you to live,

I hid my heart in a nest of roses, Out of the sun’s way, hidden apart… In a softer bed than the soft whit… Under the roses I hid my heart. Why would it sleep not? why should…

A WILD MOON riding high from c… That sees and sees not, glimmering… Hell’€™s children revel along the… With dirge-like mirth and raiment… A worse fair face than witchcraft’…

It does not hurt. She looked alo… Smiling, and watched the thick dro… Down the sheer blade; not that whi… Could hurt the sweet sense of the… But that which was to do yet ere t…

Alas my brother! the cry of the mo… That cried on each other, All crying aloud on the dead as th… Alas my brother! As flashes of dawn that mists from…

I saw my soul at rest upon a day As a bird sleeping in the nest of… Among soft leaves that give the st… To touch its wings but not its eye… So that it knew as one in visions…

SEVEN white roses on one tree, Seven white loaves of blameless le… Seven white sails on one soft sea, Seven white swans on one lake’s le… Seven white flowerlike stars in he…

THERE WAS a graven image of De… Painted with red blood on a ground… Passing between the young men and… And by him Pain, whose body shone… And Pleasure with gaunt hands tha…

PUSH hard across the sand, For the salt wind gathers breath; Shoulder and wrist and hand, Push hard as the push of death. The wind is as iron that rings,

Is it so, that the sword is broken… Our sword, that was halfway drawn? Is it so, that the light was a spa… That the bird we hailed as the lar… Sang in her sleep in the dark,

In the outer world that was before… That was before all shape or space… Before the blind first hour of tim… Before night knew the moonlight or… Yea, before any world had any ligh…