Love, do not count your labour los… Though I turn sullen, grim, retir… Even at your side; my thought is c… With fancies by old longings fired… And when I answer you, some days

Old Mr. Philosopher Comes for Ben and Claire, An ugly man, a tall man, With bright—red hair. The books that he’s written

Have you spent the money I gave y… Ay, father I have. A fourpence on cakes, two pennies… To a beggar I gave. The lake of yellow brimstone boil…

Entrance and exit wounds are silve… The track aches only when the rain… The one—legged man forgets his leg… The one—armed man his jointed wood… The blinded man sees with his ears…

Can I find True—Love a gift In this dark hour to restore her, When body’s vessel breaks adrift, When hope and beauty fade before h… But in this plight I cannot think

Are they blind, the lords of Gaza In their strong towers, Who declare Samson pillow—smother… And stripped of his powers? O stolid Philistines,

Henry, Henry, do you love me? Do I love you, Mary? Oh, can you mean to liken me To the aspen tree. Whose leaves do shake and vary,

Not to sleep all the night long, f… Counting no sheep and careless of… Welcoming the dawn confabulation Of birch, her children, who discus… Fanciful details of the promised c…

Small gnats that fly In hot July And lodge in sleeping ears, Can rouse therein A trumpet’s din

On her shut lids the lightning fli… Thunder explodes above her bed, An inch from her lax arm the rain… Discrete she lies, Not dead but entranced, dreamlessl…

O the clear moment, when from the… A word flies, current immediately Among friends; or when a loving gi… As the identical wish nearest the… Or when a stone, volleyed in sudde…

A page, a huntsman and a priest of… Her lovers, met in jealous contrar… Equally claiming the sole parentho… Of him the perfect crown of their… Then, whom to admit, herself she c…

Children born of fairy stock Never need for shirt or frock, Never want for food or fire, Always get their hearts desire: Jingle pockets full of gold,

Mother: Alice, dear, what ails yo… Dazed and white and shaken? Has the chill night numbed you? Is it fright you have taken? Alice: Mother I am very well,

Here is this patchwork quilt I’ve… Of patterned silks and old brocade… Small faded rags in memory rich Sewn each to each with feather sti… But if you stare aghast perhaps