The free fair life that has never… If I were what you seem to be and… I know I walk upon the earth, but… My spirit and your spirit lies, yo… The angels that lie watching us, t…

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

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

I have lived in the underworld so… How can you, a creature of light, Without terror understand the song And unmoved hear what moves in nig… I am a spirit that yours has found…

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

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

I did not pluck at all, And I am sorry now: The garden is not barred But the boughs are heavy with snow… The flake-blossoms thickly fall

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,

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

Through these pale cold days What dark faces burn Out of three thousand years, And their wild eyes yearn, While underneath their brows

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,

Nudes—stark and glistening, Yelling in lurid glee. Grinning f… And raging limbs Whirl over the floor one fire. For a shirt verminously busy

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…

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…

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.