#English
Crickets calling, Apples falling. Summer dying, Life is flying. So soon over–
(WITH APOLOGIES TO ARIEL… Five inches deep Sir Goldfish lie… Here last September was he laid, Poppies these that were his eyes, Of fish-bones were these bluebells…
O spirit of Life, by whatsoe’er a… Known among men, even as our fathe… Before thee, and as little childre… For counsel in Life’s dread predi… Even we, with all our lore,
The sun is weary, for he ran So far and fast to-day; The birds are weary, for who sang So many songs as they? The bees and butterflies at last
Bring not your dreams to me— Blown dust, and vapour, and the ru… Saying, ‘He, too, doth dream, Touched of the moon.’ Nay! wouldst thou vanish see
‘This hot, hard flame with which o… Will make some meadow blaze with d… Ay! and those argent breasts of th… To water-lilies; the brown fields… Will be more fruitful for our love…
This life I squander, hating the… That will not bring me either Res… This health I hack and ravage as… These nerves I fain would shatter… I fain would break—this heart that…
‘Alice, Alice, put on your things… The birds are calling, the church… The sun is shining, and I am here… Waiting—and waiting—for you, my de… Alice, Alice, doff your gown of n…
April is in the world again, And all the world is filled with f… Flowers for others, not for me! For my one flower I cannot see, Lost in the April showers.
When last I saw this opening rose That holds the summer in its hand, And with its beauty overflows And sweetens half a shire of land, It was a black and cindered thing,
To Man in haste, flushed with imp… Of some great thing to do, so slow… The long delay of Time all idle s… Idle the lordly leisure of the sun… So splendid his design, so brief h…
Art was a palace once, things grea… And strong and holy, found a templ… Now ’tis a lazar-house of leprous… O shall me hear an English song a… Still English larks mount in the…
The Décadent was speaking to his… Poor useless thing, he said, Why did God burden me with such a… The body were enough, The body gives me all.
Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we may, how wise is love— Love grown old and grey with years… Love whose blood is thinned with t… Philosophic lover I,
One says he is immoral, and points… Warm sin in ruddy specks upon his… Bigot, one folly of the man you fl… Is more to God than thy lean life…