‘These winter days,’ my father say… ‘When mornings blow and bite and f… And hens sit cackling in the straw… Stiff with the frost as gates that… Remind me of my youth when, raw,

Magician he, who, autumn nights, Down from the starry heavens whirl… A harlequin in spangled tights, Whose wand’s touch carpets earth w… Through him each pane presents a s…

Again the earth, miraculous with… Unfolds its vernal arras. Yestery… We strolled together 'neath the gr… And heard the robin tune its flute… And watched above the white cloud…

The dawn is a warp of fever, The eve is a woof of fire; And the month is a singing weaver Weaving a red desire. With stars Dawn dices with Even

God made her body out of foam and… And for her hair the dawn and dark… Then called two planets from their… And in her face, divinely eloquent… Gave them a firmament.

Dusk is thy dawn; when Eve puts o… Of gold and purple in the marbled… Thou comest forth like some embodi… Or dim conceit, a lily bud confess… Or of a rose the visible wish; tha…

Here’s to her who bears the name Of our State; May the glory of her fame Be as great! In the battle’s dread eclipse,

From morn till noon upon the windo… The tempest tapped with rainy fing… And all the afternoon the blusteri… Beat at the door with furious feet… The rose, near which the lily bloo…

He held himself splendidly forward Both early and late; The aim of his purpose was starwar… To master his fate: So he wrought and he toiled and he…

There are haunters of the silence,… I have sat with them and hearkened… I have shuddered from their coming… And have cursed them and have bles… At my door I see their shadows; i…

There is a field, that leans upon… Foamed o’er of flowers and twinkli… That in its girdle of wild acres b… The anodyne of rest that cures all… Wherein soft wind and sun and soun…

All who have toiled for Art, who’… Sat equal priests at her high Pen… Only the chrism and sacrament of f… Anointing all, inspired not all th…

See how the rose leaves fall The rose leaves fall and fade: And by the wall, in dusk funereal, How leaf on leaf is laid, Withered and soiled and frayed.

PROEM THE Nights of song and story, With breath of frost and rain, Whose locks are wild and hoary, Whose fingers tap the pane