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

“I cannot quite remember.... Ther… Dropt dead beside me in the trench… Whispered their dying messages to… Back from the trenches, more dead… Stone-deaf and dazed, and with a b…

In smoky lamplight of a Smyrna Ca… He saw them, seven solemn negroes… With faces rapt and out-thrust bel… In a slow solemn ceremonial cakewa… Dancing and prancing to the sombre…

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…

She must go back, she said, Because she’d not had time to make… We’d hurried her away So roughly . . . and for all that… She broke from us, and passed

They found her cold upon the bed. The cause of death, the doctor sai… Was nothing save the lack of bread… Her clothes were but a sorry rag That barely hid the nakedness

I SOMETIMES wonder if it’s re… I ever knew Another life Than this unending strife With unseen enemies in lowland mud…

In dream, again within the clean,… Of glazed and aching silence he wa… And, closing in, the blank walls o… Crushed stifling on him . . . when… Caught in his clutching fingers; a…

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…

The Lonely Road So long had I travelled the lonel… Though, now and again, a wayfairin… Walked shoulder to shoulder, and l… I often would think to myself as…

They ask me where I’ve been, And what I’ve done and seen. But what can I reply Who know it wasn’t I, But someone just like me,

He’s gone. I do not understand. I only know That as he turned to go And waved his hand,

HER day out from the workhouse-wa… A grey-haired woman, decent and pr… With prim black bonnet and neat pa… Among the other children by the st… And with grave relish eats a penny…

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…

Black spars of driftwood burn to p… Sea-emeralds and sea-purples and s… And all the innumerable ever-chang… That haunt the changeless deeps bu… Flicker and spire in our enchanted…