A LITTLE marsh-plant, yellow gr… And pricked at lip with tender red… Tread close, and either way you tr… Some faint black water jets betwee… Lest you should bruise the curious…

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…

One, who is not, we see; but one,… Surely this is not that; but that… What, and wherefore, and whence? f… If thunder could be without lightn… Doubt is faith in the main; but fa…

WHEN the game began between them… He played king and she played quee… Laughter soft as tears, and tears… These were things she sought for y… Pleasure with dry lips, and pain t…

Lean back, and get some minutes’ p… Let your head lean Back to the shoulder with its flee… Of locks, Faustine. The shapely silver shoulder stoops…

At the chill high tide of the nigh… At the turn of the fluctuant hours… When the waters of time are at hei… In a vision arose on my sight The kingdoms of earth and the powe…

SWEET MOTHER, in a minute’€™s… Death parts thee and my love of th… Sweet love, that yet art living ma… Come back, true love, to comfort m… Back, ah, come back! ah wellaway!

Crowned, girdled, garbed and shod… Son first-born of the morning, sov… Soul nearest ours of all, that wer… Most far off in the abysm of time,… Hung highest above the dawn-enkind…

SOFT, small, and sweet as sunnie… That bask in heavenly heat When bud by bud breaks, breathes,… Soft, small, and sweet. A babe’s hands open as to greet

I—In Church Thou whose birth on earth Angels sang to men, While thy stars made mirth, Saviour, at thy birth,

Here, down between the dusty trees… At this lank edge of haggard wood, Women with labour-loosened knees, With gaunt backs bowed by servitud… Stop, shift their loads, and pray,…

I.—VENTIMIGLIA The sky and sea glared hard and br… Down the one steep street, with sl… A tall girl paced, with eyes too p… The sky and sea.

BY no dry death another king goes… The way of kings. Yet may no free… For stern compassion and deep awe,… That one sign more is given agains… That one more head those dark red…

WHEN the fields catch flower And the underwood is green, And from bower unto bower The songs of the birds begin, I sing with sighing between.

WHITE ROSE in red rose-garden Is not so white; Snowdrops that plead for pardon And pine for fright Because the hard East blows