Did I ’ear it ’arf in a doze: The Co-ops was a goin’ somewhere, Did I 'ear it while pickin’ 'ops; How they better start takin’ care, That the papers were gettin’ toget…

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.

Aye you’re a man that! ye old mesm… Tyin’ your meanin’ in seventy swad… One must of needs be a hang’d earl… To catch you at worm turning. Hol… ‘Cat’s i’ the water butt!' Though…

“Time’s bitter flood”! Oh, that’s… But where’s the old friend hasn’t… Or slacked his hand-grip when you… I know your circle and can fairly… What you have kept and what you’ve…

The rain and the wind, the wind an… They are with us like a disease: They worry the heart, they work th… As they shoulder and clutch at the… And savage the helpless trees.

At the table beyond us With her little suede slippers off… With her white-stocking’d feet Carefully kept from the floor by a… She converses:

Though thou well dost wish me ill Audiart, Audiart, Where thy bodice laces start As ivy fingers clutching through Its crevices,

The jewelled steps are already qui… It is so late that the dew soaks m… And I let down the crystal curtai… And watch the moon through the cle…

No man hath dared to write this th… And yet I know, how that the soul… At times pass athrough us, And we are melted into them, and a… Save reflexions of their souls.

I join these words for four people… Some others may overhear them, O world, I am sorry for you, You do not know these four people.

Her grave, sweet haughtiness Pleaseth me, and in like wise Her quiet ironies. Others are beautiful, none more, s… I suppose, when poetry comes down…

Your songs? Oh! The little mothers Will sing them in the twilight, And when the night Shrinketh the kiss of the dawn

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,

BE in me as the eternal moods of the bleak wind, and not As transient things are— gaiety of flowers. Have me in the strong loneliness

The gilded phaloi of the crocuses are thrusting at the spring air. Here is there naught of dead gods But a procession of festival, A procession, Giulio Romano,