‘What are you still, still thinkin… He asked in vague surmise, ’That you stare at the wick unblin… With those great lost luminous eye… ‘O, I see a poor moth burning

I—The Tragedy She sits in the tawny vapour    That the City lanes have uprol…    Behind whose webby fold on fold Like a waning taper

A Load of brushes and baskets and… Labours along the street in the ra… With it a man, a woman, a pony wit… The man foots in front of the hors… At a slower tread than a funeral t…

O poet, come you haunting here Where streets have stolen up all a… And never a nightingale pours one Full-throated sound? Drawn from your drowse by the Sev…

Her house looked cold from the fog… And the square of each window a du… Where showed no stir: Yes, her gloom within at the lack… Seemed matching mine at the lack o…

‘Whenever I plunge my arm, like t… In a basin of water, I never miss The sweet sharp sense of a fugitiv… Fetched back from its thickening s… Hence the only prime

I MARKED her ruined hues, Her custom-straitened views, And asked, “Can there indwell My Amabel?” I looked upon her gown,

Under a daisied bank There stands a rich red ruminating…    And hard against her flank A cotton-hooded milkmaid bends her…    The flowery river-ooze

I opened my shutter at sunrise, And looked at the hill hard by, And I heartily grieved for the co… Who wandered up there to die. I let in the morn on the morrow,

I heard a small sad sound, And stood awhile among the tombs a… “Wherefore, old friends,” said I,… Now, screened from life’s unrest?” —"O not at being here;

They hail me as one living, But don’t they know That I have died of late years, Untombed although? I am but a shape that stands here,

Once more the cauldron of the sun Smears the bookcase with winy red, And here my page is, and there my… And the apple-tree shadows travel… Soon their intangible track will b…

A plain tilt-bonnet on her head She took the path across the leaze… —Her spouse the vicar, gardening,… ‘Too dowdy that, for coquetries, So I can hoe at ease.’

In years defaced and lost,    Two sat here, transport-tossed,    Lit by a living love The wilted world knew nothing of:    Scared momently

For A. W. B. SHE sought the Studios, beckonin… An arch-designer, for she planned… He was of wise contrivance, deeply… In every intervolve of high and wi…