Queen cleopatra, now grown old, Watched the green grass turning br… The river is shrunk to half its si… Now I will lay me down. Queen Cleopatra called her slaves

Dry leaves, soldier, dry leaves, d… voices of leaves on the wind that… destruction, impassioned prayer, impassioned hy… of the gladly doomed to die. Strid…

from Senlin: A Biography It is moonlight. Alone in the sil… I ascend my stairs once more, While waves, remote in a pale blue… Crash on a white sand shore.

What shall we talk of? Li Po?… You narrow your long dark eyes to… You smile a little. . . .Outside,… I walk alone in a forest of ghostl… Your pale hands rest palm downward…

If one voice, not another, must sp… out of the silence, the stillness,… speaking clearly, speaking slowly,… the heavy syllables of doubt, or o… speaking passionately, speaking bi…

My heart is an old house, and in t… In the very centre, dark and forgo… Is a locked room where an enchante… Lies sleeping. But sometimes, in that dark house,

Snow falls. The sky is grey, and… With purple lights in the canyoned… The fiery sign on the dark tower w… The trodden grass in the park is c… The streets grow silent beneath ou…

This is the house. On one side t… On one side there is light. Into the darkness you may lift you… O, any number—it will still be nig… And here are echoing stairs to lea…

One, from his high bright window i… Leans out, as evening falls, And sees the advancing curtain of… Splashing its silver on roofs and… Sees how, swift as a shadow, it cr…

These hills are sandy. Trees are… Caw dismally in skies of an arid b… Complain in dusty pine-trees. Yel… Lights on the long brown slopes a… Dew as heavy as rain; the rabbit t…

The days, the nights, flow one by… The hours go silently over our lif… We are like dreamers who walk bene… Beneath high walls we flow in the… We sleep, we wake, we laugh, we pu…

The first bell is silver, And breathing darkness I think on… The second bell is crimson, And I think of a holiday night, w… Furrowing the sky with red, and a…

The cigarette-smoke loops and slid… Dipping and swirling as the waiter… You strike a match and stare upon… The tiny fire leaps in your eyes a… And dwindles away as silently as i…

Well,—it was two days after my hus… Two days! And the earth still ra… And I was sweeping the carpet in… In number four—the room with the r… Some chorus girls and men were sin…

Goya drew a pig on a wall. The five-year-old hairdresser’s so… Saw, graved on a silver tray, The lion; and sunsets were begun. Goya smelt the bull-fight blood.