Alba When the nightingale to his mate Sings day-long and night late My love and I keep state In bower,

The skies are strown with stars, The streets are fresh with dew A thin moon drifts to westward, The night is hushed and cheerful. My thought is quick with you.

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

‘Tis Evanoe’s, A house not made with hands, But out somewhere beyond the world… Her gold is spread, above, around,… Strange ways and walls are fashion…

Where forlorn sunsets flare and fa… On desolate sea and lonely sand, Out of the silence and the shade What is the voice of strange comma… Calling you still, as friend calls…

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.

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,

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

Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Cro… And the rope of the Black Electio… ’Tis the faith of the Fool that a… Can never achieve perfection: So 'It’s O, for the time of the n…

You came in out of the night And there were flowers in your han… Now you will come out of a confusi… Out of a turmoil of speech about y… I who have seen you amid the prima…

How will this beauty, when I am f… Sweep back upon me and engulf my m… How will these hours, when we twai… Turned in their sapphire tide, com…

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.