I scribbled on a fly-book’s leaves Among the shining salmon-flies; A song for summer-time that grieve… I scribbled on a fly-book’s leaves… Between grey sea and golden sheave…

“It is told of the last Lovers wh… forest, before men brought the tid… they beheld no Fairies, nor Dwarf… Venus herself, who bade them ‘make… for’ said she, ‘I shall live no mo…

Hither, come hither, ye Clouds re… Come, though ye dwell on the sacre… Or whether ye dance with the Nere… Or whether your golden urns are di… Or whether you dwell by Mæotis me…

MOWERS, weary and brown, and bl… What is the word methinks ye know, Endless over-word that the Scythe Sings to the blades of the grass b… Scythes that swing in the grass an…

ON Calais Sands the gray began, Then rosy red above they gray; The morn with many a scarlet van Leaped, and the world was glad wit… The little waves along the bay

‘What bluid’s that on thy coat lap… Son Davie! Son Davie! What bluid’s that on thy coat lap? And the truth come tell to me, O.… ‘It is the bluid of my great hawk,

Ye giant shades of RA and TUM, Ye ghosts of gods Egyptian, If murmurs of our planet come To exiles in the precincts wan Where, fetish or Olympian,

Here stand my books, line upon lin… They reach the roof, and row by ro… They speak of faded tastes of mine… And things I did, but do not, kno… Old school books, useless long ago…

In twilight of the longest day I lingered over Lucian, Till ere the dawn a dreamy way My spirit found, untrod of man, Between the green sky and the grey…

The gypsies came to our good lord’… And wow but they sang sweetly! They sang sae sweet and sae very c… That down came the fair lady. And she came tripping doun the sta…

HAD cigarettes no ashes, And roses ne’er a thorn, No man would be a funker Of whin, or burn, or bunker. There were no need for mashies,

The burden of hard hitting: slog a… Here shalt thou make a “five” and… And then upon thy bat shalt lean,… That thou art in for an uncommon s… Yea, the loud ring applauding thee…

The modish Airs, The Tansey Brew, The SWAINS and FAIRS In curtained Pew; Nymphs KNELLER drew,

O Alison Gross, that lives in yon… The ugliest witch in the north cou… She trysted me ae day up till her… And mony fair speeches she made to… She straik’d my head, and she kaim…

Of all Gods Death alone Disdaineth sacrifice: No man hath found or shown The gift that Death would prize. In vain are songs or sighs,