If on the closed curtain of my sight My fancy paints thy portrait far away, I see thee still the same, by night or day;
Crossing the crowded street, or moving bright'Mid festal throngs, or reading by the light Of shaded lamp some friendly poe...
She has no need to fear the fall Of harvest from the laddered reach Of orchards, nor the tide gone ebbing From the steep beach
Nor hold to pain's effrontery Her body's bulwark, stern and savage, Nor be a glass, where to forsee Another's ravag...
He lay within a warm, soft world Of motion
Colors bloomed and fled,
Maroon and turquoise, saffron, red,
Wave upon wave that broke and whirled To vanish in the grey-green gloom,
ED ON
ER
NT
Such _wast_ thou: now in earth below, Dust and a skeleton thou art
Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea, London has swept about you this score years And bright ships left you this or that in fee: Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things, Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price
Great minds hav...
DY , thy lofty brow is fair,
Beauty's sign and seal are there;
And thy lip is like the
Closing round the bee's repose;
A pensive photograph Watches me from the shelf--Ghost of old love, and half Ghost of myself
How the dear waiting eyes Watch me and love me yet--Sad home of memories, Her waiting eyes
Ghost of old love, wronged ghost, Return: though all t...
The kind old face, the egg-shaped head,
The tie, discretely loud,
The loosely fitting shooting clothes,
A closely fitting shroud
As lovers, banished from their lady's
And hopeless of her grace,
Fashion a ghostly sweetness in its place,
Fondly
After the whipping he crawled into bed,
Accepting the harsh fact with no great weeping
How funny uncle's hat had looked striped red
He chuckled silently
A Brother and Sister O I admire and sorrow
The heart’s eye grieves Discovering you, dark tramplers, tyrant years
A juice rides rich through bluebells, in vine leaves, And beauty’s dearest veriest vein is tears
Happy the father, moth...
Your thighs are appletreeswhose blossoms touch the sky
Which sky
The skywhere Watteau hung a lady'sslipper
Your kneesare a southern breeze — ora gust of snow