He has picked grapes in the sun.… Like a fairy tale, Like a tale of dreams. ‘He in his slender youth, with vin… Under a blazing sky’—

My lovely pixie, my good companion… You do not love me, bed-mate of mi… Save as a child loves, Careless of loving, Rather preferring raspberry wine.

When I get up to light the fire, And dress with all the speed I ma… By candle-light, I dread the hour… That go to make a single day. But then I leave my room, and see

‘Raging winter wind Let loose in springtime What is the message your cold touc… Spite of days and dreams, Warm and easy and sublime,

O man, O woman, grievest so? Art shut away from all delight, And must thou leave this garden pl… O Eve, O Adam, question not. The God is kind who would be crue…

How funny it would be if dreamy I Should leave one book behind me wh… And that a book of Law’€”this sil… Just written for the money it will… I do hope, when it’s finished, I’…

When Gertie came in To work today She was much less weary And far more gay. We asked her the reason

The little ships are dearer than t… For they sail in strange places, They lean nearer the green waters. One may count by wavelets how the… From their decks; and hear the Se…

Sometimes I think the happiest of… Is the blest moment of release fro… The world once more is all one’s o… Upon one’s own and not another’s p… And each poor heart imprisoned by…

When I am so worn out I cannot sl… And yet I know I have to work nex… Or lose my job, I sometimes have… To one long dead, who listens when… I ask Saint Rose of Lima for the…

At ten o’clock the great gong soun… Prelude to splendour. I push back… And all the people leave their boo… Still acquiescent, down the marble… Into the dark where we can’t read.…

I wish you’d seen that dirty littl… Finger at nose, Peeking and ginking at some girls… Seated on the high window-sills to… One of the girls had hair as brigh…

Last night, in a dream, I felt th… Known to me of old; And there passed me, not much chan… Smiling, suffering, cold. This morning, I lay with closed l…

You who are dead, Do you know They’ve dug up half the irises That used to grow Here in the quadrangle a year ago?