Grotesque and queerly huddled Contortionists to twist The sleepy soul to a sleep, We lie all sorts of ways And cannot sleep.

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–

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

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

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

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.

In his malodorous brain what slugs… Lanthorned in his oblique eyes, gu… His body lodged a rat where men nu… The world flashed grape-green eyes… To him. On fragments of an old sh…

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

Girl To A Soldier On Leave Love! You love me—your eyes Have looked through death at mine. You have tempted a grave too much I let you—I repine.

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…

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…

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

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…

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,