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Half a loaf, half a loaf,Half a loaf? Urn-hum?Down through the vale of gloomSlouched the ten million,Onward th’ ‘ungry blokes,Crackin’ their smutty jokes!We’ll send ’em mouchin’ ‘ome,Damn the ten million! There goes the night brigade,They got no steady trade,Several old…
The good BellairesDo not understand the conduct of this world’s affairs.In fact they understood them so badlyThat they have had to cross the Channel.Nine lawyers, four counsels, five judges and threeproctors of the King,Together with the respective wives, husbands, sistersand…
Blue, blue is the grass about the riverAnd the willows have overfilled the close garden.And within, the mistress, in the midmost of her youth.White, white of face, hesitates, passing the door.Slender, she puts forth a slender hand; And she was…
As a bathtub lined with white porcelain,When the hot water gives out or goes tepid,So is the slow cooling of our chivalrous passion,O my much praised but-not-altogether-satisfactory lady.
The baby new to earth and skyHas never until nowUnto himself the question putOr asked us if the cow Is higher in the mental scaleThan men like me and you,Or if the cow refrains from foodTill she finds work to…
Let us build here an exquisite friendship,The flame, the autumn, and the green rose of loveFought out their strife here, ’tis a place of wonder;Where these have been, meet ’tis, the ground is holy.
Chant for the Transmutation of Metals Sail of Claustra, Aelis, Azalais,As you move among the bright trees;As your voices, under the larches of ParadiseMake a clear sound,Sail of Claustra, Aelis, Azalais,Raimona, Tibors, Berangere,‘Neath the dark gleam of the sky;Under night,…
Io! Io! Tamuz!The Dryad staiids in my court-yardWith plaintive, querulous crying.(Tamuz. Io! Tamuz!)Oh, no, she is not crying: ‘Tamuz.’She says, ‘May my poems be printed this week?The god Pan is afraid to ask you,May my poems be printed this week?’
It rests me to be among beautiful womenWhy should one always lie about such matters?I repeat:It rests me to converse with beautiful womenEven though we talk nothing but nonsense, The purring of the invisible antennaeIs both stimulating and delightful.
It is, and is not, I am sane enough,Since you have come this place has hovered round me,This fabrication built of autumn roses,Then there’s a goldish colour, different. And one gropes in these things as delicateAlgæ reach up and out,…