Bring me the roses white and red, And take the laurel leaves away; Yea, wreathe the roses round my he… That wearies ‘neath the crown of b… ’We searched the wintry forests th…

A DIAMOND of a morning Waked me an hour too soon; Dawn had taken in the stars And left the faint white moon. O white moon, you are lonely,

Crisply the bright snow whispered, Crunching beneath our feet; Behind us as we walked along the p… Our shadows danced, Fantastic shapes in vivid blue.

I built a little House of Dreams, And fenced it all about, But still I heard the Wind of Tr… That roared without. I laid a fire of Memories

When beauty grows too great to bea… How shall I ease me of its ache, For beauty more than bitterness Makes the heart break. Now while I watch the dreaming se…

I. Spirit’s House From naked stones of agony I will build a house for me; As a mason all alone I will raise it, stone by stone,

Two knights rode forth at early da… A-seeking maids to wed, Said one, “My lady must be fair, With gold hair on her head.” Then spake the other knight-at-arm…

My soul lives in my body’s house, And you have both the house and he… But sometimes she is less your own Than a wild, gay adventurer; A restless and an eager wraith,

When I am dying, let me know That I loved the blowing snow Although it stung like whips; That I loved all lovely things And I tried to take their stings

I stood beside a hill Smooth with new-laid snow, A single star looked out From the cold evening glow. There was no other creature

Were you a Greek when all the wor… Before the weary years that pass a… Had scattered all the temples on t… Before the moss to marble columns… I think your snowy tunic must have…

I sang a song at dusking time Beneath the evening star, And Terence left his latest rhyme To answer from afar. Pierrot laid down his lute to weep…

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…

SO long as my spirit still Is glad of breath And lifts its plumes of pride In the dark face of death; While I am curious still