Speak not – whisper not; Here bloweth thyme and bergamot; Softly on the evening hour, Secret herbs their spices shower. Dark-spiked rosemary and myrrh,

Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier’s boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are—

Who said, “Peacock Pie”? The old King to the sparrow: Who said, “Crops are ripe”? Rust to the harrow: Who said, “Where sleeps she now?

The last of last words spoken is,… The last dismantled flower in the… The last thin rumour of a feeble b… The last blind rat to spurn the mi… A hardening darkness glasses the h…

There is a wind where the rose was… Cold rain where sweet grass was, And clouds like sheep Stream o’er the steep Grey skies where the lark was.

Flee into some forgotten night and… Of all dark long my moon-bright co… Beyond the rumour even of Paradis… There, out of all remembrance, mak… Seek we some close hid shadow for…

When Susan’s work was done, she’d… With one fat guttering candle lit, And window opened wide to win The sweet night air to enter in; There, with a thumb to keep her pl…

“Sweep thy faint strings, Musicia… With thy long lean hand; Downward the starry tapers burn, Sinks soft the waning sand; The old hound whimpers couched in…

Black lacqueys at the wide-flung d… Stand mute as men of wood. Gleams like a pool the ballroom fl… A burnished solitude. A hundred waxen tapers shine

Dark frost was in the air without, The dusk was still with cold and g… When less than even a shadow came And stood within the room. But the three around the fire,

Dearest, it was a night That in its darkness rocked Orion… A sighing wind ran faintly white Along the willows, and the cedar b… Laid their wide hands in stealthy…

I think and think: yet still I fa… Why must this lady wear a veil? Why thus elect to mask her face Beneath that dainty web of lace? The tip of a small nose I see,

At the edge of All the Ages A Knight sate on his steed, His armor red and thin with rust His soul from sorrow freed; And he lifted up his visor