What in our lives is burnt In the fire of this? The heart’s dear granary? The much we shall miss? Three lives hath one life—

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

‘ Here are houses,’ he moaned, ‘I could reach, but my brain swims… Then they thundered and flashed, And shook the earth to its rims. ‘They are gunpits,’ he gasped,

They left their Babylon bare Of all its tall men, Of all its proud horses ; They made for Lebanon. And shadowy sowers went

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,

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…

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…

My eyes catch ruddy necks Sturdily pressed back - All a red brick moving glint. Like flaming pendulums, hands Swing across the khaki -

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,

And all her soft dark hair Breathed for him like a prayer, And her white lost face Was prisoned to sonie far place. Love was not denied–

Slow, rigid, is this masquerade That passes as through a difficult… Heavily-heavily passes. What has she fed on? Who her tabl… Through the three seasons? What f…

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…

Fret the nonchalant noon With your spleen Or your gay brow, For the motion of your spirit Ever moves with these.

Wan, fragile faces of joy, Pitiful mouths that strive To light with smiles the place We dream we walk alive, To you I stretch my hands,

Dim apprehension of a trust Comes over me this quiet hour, As though the silence were a flowe… And this, its perfume, dark like d… My individual self would cling