In the cold I will rise, I will b… In waters of ice; myself Will shiver, and shrive myself, Alone in the dawn, and anoint Forehead and feet and hands;

The shadowy boy of night Crosses the dusking land; He sows his poppy-seeds With steady, gentle hand. The shadowy boy of night

Thou beautiful and ivory gates That shut my tears away from me - Even, at last, such refuge yield That great, safe doors of Ebony.

Dost thou Not feel them slip, How cold! how cold! the moon’s Thin wavering finger-tips, along Thy throat?

Avis, the fair, at dawn Rose lightly from her bed, Herself arrayed, Avis, the fait, the maid, In vestiment of lawn;

Lo, how they weave– the imperturba… Those threads that are my destiny: Steadily at the eternal task they’… Industrious . . . indifferent . .… Weave, Fates! And what your spins…

The long night through and still a… Estranged from eyes that very wear… Makes blind to dawn.

Joy! Joy! Joy! The hills are glad, The valleys re-echo with merriment… In my heart is the sound of laught… And my feet dance to the time of i…

White doves of Cytherea, by your… Across the blue Heaven’s bluest h… And by your certain homing to Lov… Still to be true and ever true -…

If it Were lighter touch Than petal of flower resting On grass, oh still too heavy it we… Too heavy!

As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O Fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad Like the moon.

I have no heart for noon-tide and… But I will take me where more ten… Shakes, fold on fold, her dewy dar… And shelters me that I may weep i… And feel no pitying eyes, and hear…

In your Curled petals what ghosts Of blue headlands and seas, What perfumed immortal breath sigh… Of Greece.

Well and If day on day Follows and weary year On year . . . and ever days and ye… Well?

To Walter Savage Landor Ah, Walter, where you lived I rue These days come all too late for m… What matter if her eyes were blue Whose rival is Persephone?