If we had met when leaves were gre… And fate to us less hard had prove… And naught had been of what has be… We might have loved as none have l… If we had met as girl and boy,

Dare all things for Love’s sake,… Of Fate ask nothing, rather by yo… Rebuke it for its niggard ways unb… And trust to Love to shield you i… Remember in the shade of the new y…

AGE O Age, thou art the very thief of… For thou hast rifled many a proud… Of all his passions, hoarded by a… Of stern economy. Him, yet a boy,

There is one I know. I see her so… In the morning streets upon her wa… A calm sweet woman with unearthly… Men turn to look at her, but ever… Reading in those blue depths the d…

Yes, Italy is wise, a cultured pr… Stored with all maxims of a statel… These are her lessons for our nort… With its dark Saxon madness and N… With these she tempers us and rend…

Anon, ere yet his pleasure was awa… Of other presence with him in that… A growing murmur in the jubilant a… With hum of voices gathering apace… And laughter interchanged, and ton…

To her whose name, With its sweet sibilant sound like… Splashing the grass and flowers, Hath set my April heart aflame; To her whose face,

TO ONE IN A HIGH POSITIO… To you, a poet, glorious, heaven—b… One who is not a poet but a son Of the earth earthy, sick and trav… And weary with a race already run,

The booths were shut. The Fair wa… And the crowd gone with multitudin… Noisily home, or lingering still t… At Café doors or at the turn of t… In twos and threes its laughter wi…

How many singers before me! Are t… Dost thou, my sad soul, remember w… Tents in Jiwá, the fair wádi, spe… Fair house of ‘Abla my true love,… Doubting I paused in the pastures…

My only title to her grace Is her sad, too silent face; All my right to call her mine The twin tears that on it shine, Tears that tell of griefs long hid

TO ONE ON HER WASTE OF T… Why practise, love, this small eco… Of your heart’s favours? Can you… To be enjoyed in age? And would t… Expense of pleasure leave you penn…

An old heart’s mourning is a hideo… And weeds upon an aged weeper clin… Like night upon a grave. The city… Gaunt as a woman who has once been… Lay black with winter, and the sil…

My prison has its pleasures. Ever… At breakfast-time, spare meal of m… Sparrows come trooping in familiar… With head aside beseeching to be f… A spider too for me has spun her t…

When Astraled was lying, like to… Of love’s green sickness, all his… With buds of crocus and anemone, For other flowers yet were barely… And these he loved. And so it cam…