My hands were hot upon a hare, Half-strangled, struggling in a sn… My knuckles at her warm wind-pipe— When suddenly, her eyes shot back, Big, fearful, staggering and black…

Suddenly, out of dark and leafy wa… We came upon the little house asle… In cold blind stillness, shadowles… In the white magic of the full moo… Strangers without the gate, we sto…

Near the great pyramid, unshadowed… With apex piercing the white noon-… Swathed in white robes beneath the… Lie sleeping Bedouins drenched in… About them, searing to the tinglin…

AS one, at midnight, wakened by t… Of golden-plovers in their seaward… Who lies and listens, as the clear… Through tingling silence of the fr… Who lies and listens, till the las…

I do not fear to die ‘Neath the open sky, To meet death in the fight Face to face, upright. But when at last we creep

All night under the moon Plovers are flying Over the dreaming meadows of silve… Over the meadows of June, Flying and crying—

HE greets you with a smile from f… But never speaks, nor rises from h… Beneath the green night of the sea… The whole world’s waters weighing… The empty wain made slowly over th…

Indifferent, flippant, earnest, bu… The doctors sit in the glare of el… Watching the endless stream of nak… Bodies of men for whom their hasty… Means life or death maybe, or the…

Stephen, wake up! There’s some on… Quick, to the window... Oh, you’l… I hear the front door opening quie… Did you forget, last night, to tur… A foot is on the stairs—nay, just…

Roman, Roman, what do you here? Your great Wall is fallen this ma… Fallen, fallen, the Roman Wall; And green grow the bent and the mo… The wind and the rain have tumbled…

Your face was lifted to the golden… Ablaze beyond the black roofs of t… As flame on flame leapt, flourishi… Its tumult of red stars exultantly To the cold constellations dim and…

I WONDER if the old cow died or… Gey bad she was the night I left,… Dick reckoned she would mend. He… At least he fancies so himself, do… Dick knows a lot. But maybe I did…

And since he rowed his father home… His hand has never touched an oar. All day he wanders on the shore, And hearkens to the swishing foam. Though blind from birth, he still…

A blue-black Nubian plucking oran… At Jaffa by a sea of malachite, In red tarboosh, green sash, and f… Burnous—among the shadowy memories That haunt me yet by these bleak n…