Gray pilgrim, you have journeyed f… I pray you tell to me Is there a land where Love is not… By shore of any sea? For I am weary of the god,

Rose, when I remember you, Little lady, scarcely two, I am suddenly aware Of the angels in the air. All your softly gracious ways

At midnight, when the moonlit cypr… Have woven round his grave a magic… Still weeping the unfinished hymn… There moves fresh Maia, like a mo… Blown over jonquil beds when warm…

Beside an ebbing northern sea While stars awaken one by one, We walk together, I and he. He woos me with an easy grace That proves him only half sincere;

It is not a word spoken, Few words are said; Nor even a look of the eyes Nor a bend of the head, But only a hush of the heart

I came to the crowded Inn of Eart… And called for a cup of wine, But the Host went by with averted… From a thirst as keen as mine. Then I sat down with weariness

(The daughter of Sappho) When the dusk was wet with dew, Cleïs, did the muses nine Listen in a silent line While your mother sang to you?

When first I saw you, felt you ta… I could not speak for happiness to… How more than all they said your h… How strong you were, and quick to… I dared not say: “I who am least…

Lo, I am happy, for my eyes have… Joy glowing here before me, face t… His wings were arched above me for… I kissed his lips, no bitter came… The air is vibrant where his feet…

Oh in the deep blue night The fountain sang alone; It sang to the drowsy heart Of a satyr carved in stone. The fountain sang and sang

Shall we, too, rise forgetful from… And shall my soul that lies within… Remember nothing, as the blowing s… Forgets the palm where long blue s… When winds along the darkened dese…

We are apart; the city grows quiet… She hushes herself, for midnight m… The tangle of traffic is ended, th… Five streets divide us, and on the… Oh are you asleep, or lying awake,…

The sparrows wake beneath the conv… I think I have not slept the whol… But I am old; the aged scarcely k… The times they wake and sleep, for… They breathe the calm of death bef…

I have no riches but my thoughts, Yet these are wealth enough for me… My thoughts of you are golden coin… Stamped in the mint of memory; And I must spend them all in song…