When Loie Fuller’s Chinese dancers enw… A shining web, a floating ribbon of clot… It seemed that a dragon of air Had fallen among dancers, had whirled th… Or hurried them off on its own furious p…

Fasten your hair with a golden pin, And bind up every wandering tress; I bade my heart build these poor rhymes: It worked at them, day out, day in, Building a sorrowful loveliness

I sing what was lost and dread what was… I walk in a battle fought over again, My king a lost king, and lost soldiers m… Feet to the Rising and Setting may run, They always beat on the same small stone…

III Slim adolescence that a nymph has stripp… Peleus on Thetis stares. Her limbs are delicate as an eyelid, Love has blinded him with tears;

The dews drop slowly and dreams gather;… Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened… And then the clash of fallen horsemen an… Of unknown perishing armies beat about m… We who still labour by the cromlech on t…

Hic. ON the grey sand beside the shallo… Under your old wind-beaten tower, where… A lamp burns on beside the open book That Michael Robartes left, you walk in… And though you have passed the best of l…

I care not what the sailors say: All those dreadful thunder-stones, All that storm that blots the day Can but show that Heaven yawns; Great Europa played the fool

The old priest Peter Gilligan Was weary night and day For half his flock were in their beds Or under green sods lay. Once, while he nodded in a chair

O BUT we talked at large before The sixteen men were shot, But who can talk of give and take, What should be and what not While those dead men are loitering there

NOW that we’re almost settled in our ho… I’ll name the friends that cannot sup wi… Beside a fire of turf in the ancient tow… And having talked to some late hour Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed…

We that have done and thought, That have thought and done, Must ramble, and thin out Like milk spilt on a stone.

DEAR fellow-artist, why so free With every sort of company, With every Jack and Jill? Choose your companions from the best; Who draws a bucket with the rest

I HAVE heard the pigeons of the Seven… Make their faint thunder, and the garden… Hum in the lime-tree flowers; and put aw… The unavailing outcries and the old bitt… That empty the heart. I have forgot awh…