Thin-legged, thin-chested, slight… Neat-footed and weak-fingered: in… Lean, large-boned, curved of beak,… Bold-lipped, rich-tinted, mutable… The brown eyes radiant with vivaci…

Fools may pine, and sots may swill… Cynics gibe, and prophets rail, Moralists may scourge and drill, Preachers prose, and fainthearts q… Let them whine, or threat, or wail…

Behold me waiting-waiting for the… A little while, and at a leap I s… The thick, sweet mystery of chloro… The drunken dark, the little death… The gods are good to me: I have n…

As with varnish red and glistening Dripped his hair; his feet looked… Raised, he settled stiffly sideway… You could see his hurts were spina… He had fallen from an engine,

Or ever the knightly years were go… With the old world to the grave, I was the King of Babylon And you were a Christian Slave. I saw, I took, I cast you by,

His beat lies knee—high through a… A dust of terror and torture, grie… Ghosts that are England’s wonder,… Throng where he walks, an antic of… A sense of long immedicable tears

Like as a flamelet blanketed in sm… So through the anaesthetic shows m… So flashes and so fades my thought… With the strong stupor that I hea… And sicken at, it is so foully swe…

There’s never a delicate nurseling… But our huge London hails it, and… To wear it on her breast or at her… Her days to colour and make sweet… Crocus and daffodil and violet,

‘As like the Woman as you can’ - (Thus the New Adam was beguiled)… ‘So shall you touch the Perfect M… (God in the Garden heard and smil… ‘Your father perished with his day…

Beside the idle summer sea, And in the vacant summer days, Light Love came fluting down the… Where you were loitering with me. Who have not welcomed even as we,

A LATE lark twitters from the qu… And from the west, Where the sun, his day’s work ende… Lingers as in content, There falls on the old, gray city

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pol… I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance

Something is dead . . . The grace of sunset solitudes, the… Of the solitary moon, the pomp and… Of round on round of shining soldi… Patrolling space, the bounties of…

One with the ruined sunset, The strange forsaken sands, What is it waits, and wanders, And signs with desparate hands? What is it calls in the twilight -

Fountains that frisk and sprinkle The moss they overspill; Pools that the breezes crinkle; The wheel beside the mill, With its wet, weedy frill;