You—you— Your shadow is sunlight on a plate… Your footsteps, the seeding-place… Your hands moving, a chime of bell… The movement of your hands is the…

Life! Austere arbiter of each man… By whom he learns that Nature’s s… Are as decrees immutable; O pause Your even forward march! Not yet… Teach me the needed lesson, when t…

My heart is like a cleft pomegrana… Bleeding crimson seeds And dripping them on the ground. My heart gapes because it is ripe… And its seeds are bursting from it…

You —you — Your shadow is sunlight on a plate… Your footsteps, the seeding-place… Your hands moving, a chime of bell… The movement of your hands is the…

As I sit here in the quiet Summer… Suddenly, from the distant road, t… The grind and rush of an electric… And, from still farther off, An engine puffs sharply,

A little garden on a bleak hillsid… Where deep the heavy, dazzling mou… Lies far into the spring. The sun… Is scarcely able to melt patches w… About the single rose bush. All d…

The Fool Errant sat by the highwa… And his gaze wandered up and his g… A vigorous youth, but with no wish… Yet his longing was great for the… He whistled a little frivolous tun…

Now what in the name of the sun an… Is the meaning of this most unholy… Do men find life so full of humour… That for want of excitement they s… Fifteen millions of soldiers with…

Tell me, Was Venus more beautiful Than you are, When she topped The crinkled waves,

The throats of the little red trum… And the clangour of brass beats ag… They bray and blare at the burning… Red! Red! Coarse notes of red, Trumpeted at the blue sky.

A Minstrel stands on a marble sta… Blown by the bright wind, debonair… Below lies the sea, a sapphire flo… Above on the terrace a turret door Frames a lady, listless and wan,

Did the door move, or was it alway… The gladioli on the table are pale… I smell pale mauve and blue, Blue soft like bruises—putrid—oozi… The air oozes blue—mauve—

Gushing from the mouths of stone m… To spread at ease under the sky In granite-lipped basins, Where iris dabble their feet And rustle to a passing wind,

Must all of worth be travailled fo… Life’s brightest stars rise from a… Must years go by in sad uncertaint… Leaving us doubting whose the conq… Are we or Fate the victors? Time…

Red slippers in a shop-window, and outside in the street, flaws of grey, windy sleet! Behind the polished glass, the slippers hang in long threads of red, festooning from the ceili...