My window-pane is starred with fro… The world is bitter cold to-night, The moon is cruel, and the wind Is like a two-edged sword to smite… God pity all the homeless ones,

I hid the love within my heart, And lit the laughter in my eyes, That when we meet he may not know My love that never dies. But sometimes when he dreams at ni…

When Love was born I think he lay Right warm on Venus’ breast, And whiles he smiled and whiles wo… And whiles would take his rest. But always, folded out of sight,

The world is tired, the year is ol… The little leaves are glad to die, The wind goes shivering with cold Among the rushes dry. Our love is dying like the grass,

Oh, there are eyes that he can see… And hands to make his hands rejoic… But to my lover I must be Only a voice. Oh, there are breasts to bear his…

I plucked a snow-drop in the sprin… And in my hand too closely pressed… The warmth had hurt the tender thi… I grieved to see it withering. I gave my love a poppy red,

Oh, because you never tried To bow my will or break my pride, And nothing of the cave-man made You want to keep me half afraid, Nor ever with a conquering air

They never saw my lover’s face, They only know our love was brief, Wearing awhile a windy grace And passing like an autumn leaf. They wonder why I do not weep,

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…

I cannot die, who drank delight From the cup of the crescent moon, And hungrily as men eat bread, Loved the scented nights of June. The rest may die—but is there not

Did you never know, long ago, how… That your love would never lessen… You were young then, proud and fre… You were too young to know. Fate is a wind, and red leaves fly…

Pierrot stands in the garden Beneath a waning moon, And on his lute he fashions A little silver tune. Pierrot plays in the garden,

AT six o’clock of an autumn dusk With the sky in the west a rusty r… The bells of the mission down in t… Cry out that the day is dead. The first star pricks as sharp as…

Hope went by and Peace went by And would not enter in; Youth went by and Health wnt by And Love that is their kin. Those within the house shed tears