Works

Dawn has flashed up the startled skies,
Night has gone out beneath the hill
Many sweet times; before our eyes
Dawn makes and unmakes about us still
The magic that we call the rose....

This Poem, Dedicated to His Mother.


To twilight heads comes Death as comes a friend,
As with the gentle fading of the year
Fades rose, folds leaf, falls fruit, and to their end...

"I thought you loved me." "No, it was only fun."
"When we stood there, closer than all?" "Well, the harvest moon
"Was shining and queer in your hair, and it turned my head."...