What words Are left thee then Who hast squandered on thy Forgetfulness eternity’s I Love?

I have minded me Of the noon-day brightness, And the cricket’s drowsy Singing in the sunshine. . I have minded me

Every day, Every day, Tell the hours By their shadows, By their shadows.

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

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

Little my lacking fortunes show For this to eat and that to wear; Yet laughing, Soul, and gaily go! An obol pays the Stygian fare. London, 1910

Grey gaolers are my griefs That will not let me free; The bitterness of tears Is warder unto me. I may not leap or run;

A flickering light near spent Her pale hand bore. Have you seen Angelique? Will she know the place Dead feet must find,

(1) The rose new-opening saith, And the dew of the morning saith, (Fallen leaves and vanished dew) Remember death.

Was it love breathed on us as on t… Dawn breathes for a short space an… Or loved we never at all who but m… With too dim vision the guarded my… Were we unfaithful or were we unwi…

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

Not spring’s Thou art, but hers, Most cool, most virginal, Winter’s, with thy faint breath, t… Rose-tinged.

But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. .the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!

These be three silent things: The falling snow . . . the hour Before the dawn . . . the mouth of… Just dead.

More dim than wining moon Thy face, mort faint Than is the falling wind Thy voice, yet do Thine eyes most strangely glow,