With a fork drive Nature out, She will ever yet return; Hedge the flowerbed all about, Pull or stab or cut or burn, She will ever yet return.

He fell in victory’s fierce pursui… Holed through and through with sho… A sabre sweep had hacked him deep Twixt neck and shoulderknot.... The potman cannot well recall,

My familiar ghost again Comes to see what he can see, Critic, son of Conscious Brain, Spying on our privacy. Slam the window, bolt the door,

One moonlit night a ship drove in, A ghost ship from the west, Drifting with bare mast and lone t… Like a mermaid drest In long green weed and barnacles:

She tells her love while half asle… In the dark hours, With half—words whispered low: As Earth stirs in her winter slee… And put out grass and flowers

“Is that the Three—and—Twentieth,… Marching below, and we still gulpi… From the sad magic of his fragrant… The red—faced old centurion starte… Cursed, battered on the table. “N…

Listen now this time Shortly to my rhyme That herewith starts About certain kind hearts In those stricken parts

As Jane walked out below the hill… She saw an old man standing still, His eyes in tranced sorrow bound On the broad stretch of barren gro… His limbs were knarled like aged t…

Nine of the clock, oh! Wake my lazy head! Your shoes of red morocco, Your silk bed—gown: Rouse, rouse, speck—eyed Mary

(The first corpse I saw was on th… German wires, and couldn’t be buri… The whole field was so smelly; We smelt the poor dog first: His horrid swollen belly

Across the room my silent love I… Where you sit sewing in bed by can… Your young stern profile and indus… Displayed against the blind in a s… To Dinda’s grave delight.

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,