This boat is of shato-wood, and it… magnolia, Musicians with jewelled flutes and… Fill full the sides in rows, and o… Is rich for a thousand cups.

A square, squat room (a cellar on… Drab to the soul, drab to the very… Plasters astray in unnatural-looki… Scissors and lint and apothecary’s… Here, on a bench a skeleton would…

The black panther treads at my sid… And above my fingers There float the petal-like flames. The milk-white girls Unbend from the holly-trees,

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

Red knights, brown bishops, bright… Striking the board, falling in str… colour. Reaching and striking in angles, holding lines in one colour.

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

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.

Shades of Callimachus, Coan ghost… It is in your grove I would walk, I who come first from the clear fo… Bringing the Grecian orgies into… and the dance into Italy.

‘€˜Being no longer human, why shou… Pretend humanity or don the frail… Men have I known and men, but nev… Was grown so free an essence, or b… So simply element as what I am.

For I was a gaunt, grave councill… Being in all things wise, and very… But I have put aside this folly a… That old age weareth for a cloak. I was quite strong—at least they s…

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

By the North Gate, the wind blows… Lonely from the beginning of time… Trees fall, the grass goes yellow… I climb the towers and towers to watch out the barbarous land:

For a moment she rested against me Like a swallow half blown to the w… And they talk of Swinburne’s wome… And the shepherdess meeting with… And the harlots of Baudelaire.

LOQUITUR: En Betrans de Born. Dante Alighieri put this man in h… Eccovi! Judge ye! Have I dug him up again?

A Hymn to the Dope Goddess of the murmuring courts, Nicotine, my Nicotine, Houri of the mystic sports, trailing—robed in gabardine,