I mingle with your bones: You steal in subtle noose This lighted dust .Jehovah loans And now I lose. What will the Lender say

Ah, Koelue! Had you embalmed your beauty, so It could not backward go, Or change in any way, What were the use, if on my eyes

As a sword in the sun A glory calling a glory Our eyes, seeing it run, Capture its gleam for our story. Singer, marvellous gleam

She stood-a hill-ensceptred Queen… The glory streaming from her ; While Heaven flashed her rays bet… And shed eternal summer. The gates of morning opened wide

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…

Moses, from whose loins I sprung, Lit by a lamp in his blood Ten immutable rules, a moon For mutable lampless men. The blonde, the bronze, the ruddy,

They leave their love-lorn haunts, Their sigh-warm floating Eden; And they are mute at once, Mortals by God unheeden, By their past kisses chidden.

So thy soul’s meekness shrinks, Too loth to show her face– Why should she shun the world? It is a holy place. Concealed to itself

Wreck not the ageing heart of quie… With alien uproar and rude jolly c… Which satyr like to a mild maidens… Ripens not wisdom, but a large rec… Give them their withered peace, th…

We curl into your eyes– They drink our files and have neve… In the fierce forest of your hair Our desires beat blindly for their… In your eyes’ subtle pit,

A little breath can make a prayer, A little wind can take it And turn it back again to air: Then say, why should you make it? An ardent thought can make a word,

As the pregnant womb of night Thrills with imprisoned light, Misty, nebulous-born, Growing deeper into her morn, So man, with no sudden stride,

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.

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

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.