It’s no use

Sights on earth: I say that my love of all isSweetest and rarest.Hear the proof, which lightly, I wot, convinces: —‘Mid the comely, Helen would fain discoverOne without peer, and of the goodly princesChose for her loverHim who brought the glory of Troy to ruin!Reckless all of parent and child, she lavishedOn the alien love…

On rich attire, on jewel-hoard,On dross of thine ill-gotten pelf,On carcanet and flashing ring,On meats and wines that load thy board!Ay, cup on cup past numberingThou drainest with the drunken! Fool,Who hast not learnt in wisdom’s schoolThat wealth is an accursed thingDislinked from goodness! Only whenThese twain are wedded, happinessTrue and abiding comes to blessThe…

Dawn that verymoment awoke me

waiting where the grove ispleasantest, by precinctssacred to you; incensesmokes on the altar, coldstreams murmur through theapple branches, a youngrose thicket shades the groundand quivering leaves pourdown deep sleep; in meadowswhere horses have grown sleekamong spring flowers, dillscents the air. Queen! Cyprian!Fill our gold cups with lovestirred into clear nectar

tortoise shell: becomea speaking instrument

Softly the apple-sprays,And from leaves that shimmer and quiverDown on mine eyelids streamsA slumber-river.

A-top on the topmost twig–which the pluckers forgot, somehow–Forget it not, nay, but got it not, for none could get it till now.IILike the wild hyacinth flower which on the hills is found,Which the passing feet of the shepherds for ever tear and wound,Until the purple blossom is trodden in the ground.

to your talk, your laughter, your touching,breath-held silences. But what I feel, sitting hereand watching you, so stops my heart and bindsmy tongue that I can’t think what I might sayto breach the aureole around you there.It’s as if someone with flint and stone had sparkeda fire that kindled the flesh along my armsand smothered…

And pluck them, singing.More golden than all gold your tresses are:Never was harp-note like your voice, my love,Your voice sweet-ringing.

For I no longer will abideWhere youth and age lie side by side.

snare-knitter! Don’t, I beg you,cow my heart with grief! Come,as once when you heard my far-off cry and, listening, steppedfrom your father’s house to yourgold car, to yoke the pair whosebeautiful thick-feathered wingsoaring down mid-air from heavencarried you to light swiftlyon dark earth; then, blissful one,smiling your immortal smileyou asked, What ailed me now thatme…

Poised like a golden flower in the air,Lydian treasures her limbs outshine(Claïs, beloved one,Claïs mine!)