The half-shut doors through which we heard that music Are softly closed. Horns mutter down to silence. The stars whirl out, the night grows deep. Darkness settles upon us. A vague refrain...
'This envelope you say has something in it Which once belonged to your dead son, or something He knew, was fond of? Something he remembers? The soul flies far, and we can only call it...
The door is shut. She leaves the curtained office, And down the grey-walled stairs comes trembling slowly Towards the dazzling street. Her withered hand clings tightly to the railing....
Well, as you say, we live for small horizons: We move in crowds, we flow and talk together, Seeing so many eyes and hands and faces, So many mouths, and all with secret meanings,...
He, in the room above, grown old and tired, She, in the room below, his floor her ceiling, Pursue their separate dreams. He turns his light, And throws himself on the bed, face down, in laughter. . . ....
No, I shall not say why it is that I love you, Why do you ask me, save for vanity? Surely you would not have me, like a mirror, Say 'yes, your hair curls darkly back from the temples,...
As evening falls, The walls grow luminous and warm, the walls Tremble and glow with the lives within them moving, Moving like music, secret and rich and warm. How shall we live to-night, where shall we turn?...
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light. The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east: And lights wink out through the windows, one by one. A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night....
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light. The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east: And lights wink out through the windows, one by one....
The round red sun heaves darkly out of the sea. The walls and towers are warmed and gleam. Sounds go drowsily up from streets and wharves. The city stirs like one that is half in dream. ...
As evening falls, And the yellow lights leap one by one Along high walls; And along black streets that glisten as if with rain, The muted city seems...
'This envelope you say has something in it Which once belonged to your dead son, or something He knew, was fond of? Something he remembers? The soul flies far, and we can only call it...
Vast are its halls, as vast the halls and lone Where DEATH stalks listening to the wind and rain; And dark that house, where I shall meet again My long-dead Sin in some dread way unknown;...
How fancy romped and played here, Building this house of moss! A faery house, the shade here And sunlight gleam across; And how it danced and swayed here,...
When Britain really ruled the waves (In good Queen Bess's time) The House of Peers made no pretence To intellectual eminence, Or scholarship sublime; Yet Britain won her proudest bays...
"That is a quiet place - That house in the trees with the shady lawn." " - If, child, you knew what there goes on You would not call it a quiet place. Why, a phantom abides there, the last of its race,...