The eyes of this dead lady speak t… For here was love, was not to be d… And here desire, not to be kissed… The eyes of this dead lady speak t…

The sky-like limpid eyes, The circular infant’s face, The stiffness from spats to collar Never relaxing into grace; The heavy memories of Horeb, Sina…

For three years, out of key with h… He strove to resuscitate the dead… Of poetry; to maintain “the sublim… In the old sense. Wrong from the… No, hardly, but, seeing he had bee…

Green arsenic smeared on an egg-wh… Crushed strawberries! Come, let u…

The girl in the tea shop Is not so beautiful as she was, The August has worn against her. She does not get up the stairs so… Yes, she also will turn middle—age…

I make a pact with you, Walt Whit… I have detested you long enough. I come to you as a grown child Who has had a pig—headed father; I am old enough now to make friend…

Because a lady asks me, I would t… Of an affect that comes often and… And is so overweening; Love by na… E’en its deniers can now hear the… I for the nonce to them that know…

I sat on the Dogana’s steps For the gondolas cost too much, th… And there were not “those girls”,… And the Buccentoro twenty yards o… And the lit cross—beams, that year…

Vex not thou the banker’s mind (His what?) with a show of sense, Vex it not, Willie, his mind, Or pierce its pretence On the supposition that it ever

(1907) 1 am homesick after mine own kind, Oh I know that there are folk abo… But I am homesick after mine own… ‘These sell our pictures’! Oh wel…

Her little face is like a walnut s… With wrinkling lines; her soft, wh… Her withered brows in quaint, stra… And all about her clings an old, s… Prim is her gown and quakerlike he…

Lady of rich allure, Queen of the spring’s embrace, Your arms are long like boughs of… Mid laugh—broken streams, spirit o… Breath of the poppy flower,

What if I know thy speeches word… And if thou knew’st I knew them w… What if I know thy speeches word… And all the time thou sayest them… ‘Lo, one there was who bent her fa…

Luini in porcelain! The grand piano Utters a profane Protest with her clear soprano. The sleek head emerges

They say the roads of Sanso are s… Sheer as the mountains. The walls rise in a man’s face, Clouds grow out of the hill at his horse’s bridle.