Your ‘ Youth ’ has fallen from it… And you have fallen, you yourself. They knocked a soldier on the head… I mourn the poet who fell dead. And yet I think it was by chance,

O tender first cold flush of rose, O budded dawn, wake dreamily ; Your dim lips as your lids unclose Murmur your own sad threnody. 0 as the soft and frail lights bre…

Caught still as Absalom, Surely the air hangs From the swayless cloud-boughs Like hair of Absalom Caught and hanging still.

She bade us listen to the singing… In tones far sweeter than its own: For fear that she should cease and… We built the bird a feigned throne… Shrined in her gracious glory-givi…

Fierce wrath of Solomon, Where sleepest thou? 0 see, The fabric which thou won Earth and ocean to give thee– 0 look at the red skies.

Space beats the ruddy freedom of t… Their naked dances with man’s spir… By the root side of the tree of li… (The under side of things And shut from earth’s profoundest…

I love you, great new Titan! Am I not you? Napoleon or Caesar Out of you grew. Out of the unthinkable torture,

Lamp-lit faces, to you What is your starry dew? Gold flowers of the night blue! Deep in wet pavement’s slime Mud-rooted is your fierce prime,

IN THE WORKSHOP Dim watery lights gleaming on gibb… Faces speechful, barren of soul an… Huddled and chewing a jest, lewd a… insidious:

Streaked with immortal blasphemies… Betwixt His twin eternities The Shaper of mortal destinies Sits in that limbo of dreamless sl… Some nothing that hath shadows dee…

I snatched two poppies From the parapet’s ledge, Two bright red poppies That winked on the ledge. Behind my ear

To sweeten a swift minute so With such rare fragrance of sweet… And make the after hours go In a blank yearning each on each ; To drain the springs till they be…

The darkness crumbles away It is the same old druid Time as… Only a live thing leaps my hand, A queer sardonic rat, As I pull the parapet’s poppy

A silver rose to show Is your sweet face; And like the heavens’ white brow, Sometime God’s battle-place, Your blood is quiet now.

My days are but the tombs of burie… Which tombs are hidden in the pile… But from the mounds there spring u… Whose beauty well repays their cos… Time, like a sexton, pileth mould…