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,

Swept, clean, and still, across th… From some unshuttered casement, hi… The level sunshine slants, its gre… Quenching the little lamp which pa… Flickering, unreplenished, at the…

The rain gullies the garden paths And tinkles on the broad sides of… A tree, at the end of my arm, is h… Even so, I can see that it has re… A scarlet fruit,

Be patient with you? When the stooping sky Leans down upon the hills And tenderly, as one who soothing… An anguish, gathers earth to lie

How fresh the Dartle’s little wav… A steely silver, underlined with b… And flashing where the round cloud… Let drop the yellow sunshine to gl… And tip the edges of the waves wit…

Spread on the roadway, With open-blown jackets, Like black, soaring pinions, They swoop down the hillside, The Cyclists.

ONCE, in the sultry heat of mids… An Emperor caused the miniature m… To be covered with white silk, That so crowned, They might cool his eyes

Oblong, its jutted ends rounding i… The old sunken basin lies with its… An inch below the terrace tiles. Over the stagnant water Slide reflections:

A drifting, April, twilight sky, A wind which blew the puddles dry, And slapped the river into waves That ran and hid among the staves Of an old wharf. A watery light

There once was a man whom the gods… And a disagreeable man was he. He loathed his neighbours, and his… And he cursed eternally. He damned the sun, and he damned t…

High up in the apple tree climbing… With the sky above me, the earth b… Each branch is the step of a wonde… Which leads to the town I see shi… Climbing, climbing, higher and hig…

Brighter than fireflies upon the… Are your words in the dark, Belov…

The Poet took his walking-stick Of fine and polished ebony. Set in the close-grained wood Were quaint devices; Patterns in ambers,

My heart is tuned to sorrow, and t… Vibrate most readily to minor chor… Searching and sad; my mind is stuf… Which voice the passion and the ac… Illusions beating with their baffl…

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,