Now when the darkness came over th… having lighted a torch of pinewood… the valley. For he had business in… And kneeling on the flint stones o… a young man who was naked and weep…

A white mist drifts across the shr… A wild moon in this wintry sky Gleams like an angry lion’s eye Out of a mane of tawny clouds. The muffled steersman at the wheel

O well for him who lives at ease With garnered gold in wide domain, Nor heeds the splashing of the rai… The crashing down of forest trees. O well for him who ne’er hath know…

Sweet, I blame you not, for mine… was, had I not been made of common… I had climbed the higher heights u… yet, seen the fuller air, the larg… From the wildness of my wasted pas…

The silver trumpets rang across th… The people knelt upon the ground w… And borne upon the necks of men I… Like some great God, the Holy Lo… Priest—like, he wore a robe more w…

He did not wear his scarlet coat, For blood and wine are red, And blood and wine were on his han… When they found him with the dead, The poor dead woman whom he loved,

O singer of Persephone! In the dim meadows desolate Dost thou remember Sicily? Still through the ivy flits the be… Where Amaryllis lies in state;

To my friend George Fleming autho… ‘Mirage’) A year ago I breathed the Italian… And yet, methinks this northern S… These fields made golden with the…

Come down, O Christ, and help me!… For I am drowning in a stormier s… Than Simon on thy lake of Galilee… The wine of life is spilt upon the… My heart is as some famine—murdere…

Under the rose—tree’s dancing shad… There stands a little ivory girl, Pulling the leaves of pink and pea… With pale green nails of polished… The red leaves fall upon the mould…

The seasons send their ruin as the… For in the spring the narciss show… Nor withers till the rose has flam… And in the autumn purple violets b… And the slim crocus stirs the wint…

Christ, dost thou live indeed? or… Still straightened in their rock—h… And was thy Rising only dreamed b… Whose love of thee for all her sin… For here the air is horrid with me…

Could we dig up this long—buried t… Were it worth the pleasure, We never could learn love’s song, We are parted too long. Could the passionate past that is…

I have no store Of gryphon—guarded gold; Now, as before, Bare is the shepherd’s fold. Rubies nor pearls