Thy soul Grown delicate with satieties, Atthis. O Atthis, I long for thy lips.

Come my cantilations, Let us dump our hatreds into one b… Hot sun, clear water, fresh wind, Let me be free of pavements, Let me be free of the printers.

O My songs, Why do you look so eagerly and so… people’s faces, Will you find your lost dead among…

A Lady asks me I speak in season She seeks reason for an affect, wi… That is so proud he hath Love for… Who denys it can hear the truth no…

The lateral vibrations caress me, They leap and caress me, They work pathetically in my favou… They seek my financial good. She of the spear stands present.

ROSE WHITE, YELLOW, SILV… The swirl of light follows me thro… The smoke of incense Mounts from the four horns of my b… The water-jet of gold light bears…

Gone while your tastes were keen t… Gone where the grey winds call to… By that high fencer, even Death, Struck of the blade that no man pa… Such is your fence, one saith,

Ha! sir, I have seen you sniffing… about among my flowers. And what, pray, do you know about horticulture, you capriped? ‘Come, Auster, come Apeliota,

The light became her grace and dwe… Blind eyes and shadows that are fo… Lo, how the light doth melt us int… The broken sunlight for a healm sh… Who hath my heart in jurisdiction.

The very small children in patched… Being smitten with an unusual wisd… Stopped in their play as she passe… And cried up from their cobbles: Guarda! Ahi, guarda! Ch’ è be’ a!

Come, or the stellar tide will sli… Eastward avoid the hour of its dec… Now! for the needle trembles in my… Here we have had our vantage, the… Here we have had our day, your day…

For God, our God is a gallant foe That playeth behind the veil. I have loved my God as a child at… That seeketh deep bosoms for rest, I have loved my God as a maid to…

Turned from the 'eau-forte Par Jaquemart’ To the strait head Of Messalina: ‘His true Penelope

Young men riding in the street In the bright new season Spur without reason Causing their steeds to leap. And at the pace they keep

A dainty thing’s the Villanelle. Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme, It serves its purpose passing well… A doublc-clappered silver bell That must be made to clink in chim…