O never laugh again! Laughter is dead, Deep hiding in her grave, A sacred thing. O never laugh again,

Winter that hath few friends yet n… Of spirit erect and delicate of ey… All may applaud sweet Summer, wit… And Autumn, with her banners in t… But when from the earth’s cheek th…

(TO L. AND H.H.) O you that dwell 'mid farm and fol… Yet keep so quick undulled a heart… I send you here that book of gold, So loved so long;

Not that Queen Venus of adulterou… Whose love was lust’s insatiable f… Not hers the house I would be sin… Whose loose-lipped servants seek a… But mine the Venus of that mornin…

So sang young Love in high and ho… Of a white Love that hath no eart… So rapt within his vision he did s… Less like a boyish singer than a s… Ah, Boy, it is a dream for life t…

Why did she marry him? Ah, say wh… How was her fancy caught? What was the dream that he drew he… Or was she only bought? Gave she her gold for a girlish wh…

FOR THE BEATRICE CELEB… Nine mystic revolutions of the sph… Since Dante’s birth, and lo! a st… Shining in heaven: and like a lark… Springing to meet it, straight in…

This is the year that has no Chri… Even the little children must be t… That something sad is happening fa… Or, if you needs must play, As children must,

Too late I bring my heart, too la… Too late to bring the true love th… Too long, unthrift, I gave it her… Spent it in idle love and idle son… Youth seemed so rich, with kisses…

God gave us an hour for our tears, One hour out of all the years, For all the years were another’s g… Given in a cruel troth of old. And how did we spend his boon?

After the war—I hear men ask—what… As tho this rock-ribbed world, scu… And bastioned deep in the ethereal… Can never be its morning self agai… Because of this brief madness, man…

When leaf and flower are newly mad… And bird and butterfly and bee Are at their summer posts again; When all is ready, lo! ’tis she, Suddenly there after soft rain–

You ask and I send. It is well, y… A lily hangs dead on its stalk, ah… A dream hangs dead on a life it bl… Shall it flaunt its death where sa… In the cold dank wind of our memor…

Her talk was all of woodland thing…    Of little lives that pass Away in one green afternoon,    Deep in the haunted grass; For she had come from fairyland,