A round of calls and cues:
Love blows as the wind blows.
Blows! . . . in the quiet close
As in the roaring mart,
By ways no mortal knows
Love blows into the heart.
The stars some cadence use,
Forthright the river flows,
In order fall the dews,
Love blows as the wind blows:
Blows! . . . and what reckoning shows
The courses of his chart?
A spirit that comes and goes,
Love blows into the heart.
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Time, the old humourist, has a trick to-day
Till into Town the Suburbs edge their way,And in the Suburbs you may scent the Town.With Mount Street thus approaching Muswell Hill,And Clapham Common marching with the Mile,You get a Hammersmith that fills the bill,A Hampstead with a serious sense of style.So this fair creature, pictured in The Row,As one of that ‘gay adulterous world,’…
She’s an enchanting little Israelite,
A starry-glancing daughter of the Bride,With hair escaped from some Arabian Night,Her lip is red, her cheek is golden-white,Her nose a scimitar; and, set asideThe bamboo hat she cocks with so much pride,Her dress a dream of daintiness and delight.And when she passes with the dreadful boysAnd romping girls, the cockneys loud and crude,My thought,…
Far out of bounds he’d figured-in a race
But if you’d see him in his proper place,Making the browns for bub and grub and doss,Go East among the merchants and their men,And where the press in noisiest, and the tidesOf trade run highest and widest, there and thenYou shall behold him, edging with equal stridesAlong the kerb; hawking in either handSome artful nothing…
Space and dread and the dark –
Cloud-monsters crawling, like a funeral trainOf huge, primeval presencesStooping beneath the weightOf some enormous, rudimentary grief;While in the haunting lonelinessThe far sea waits and wanders with a soundAs of the trailing skirts of Destiny,Passing unseenTo some immitigable endWith her grey henchman, Death.What larve, what spectre is thisThrilling the wilderness to lifeAs with the bodily shape…
As with varnish red and glistening
Raised, he settled stiffly sideways:You could see his hurts were spinal.He had fallen from an engine,And been dragged along the metals.It was hopeless, and they knew it;So they covered him, and left him.As he lay, by fits half sentient,Inarticulately moaning,With his stockinged soles protrudedStark and awkward from the blankets,To his bed there came a woman,Stood…
In the year that’s come and gone, love, his flying feather
In the year that’s coming on, though many a troth be broken,We at least will not forget aught that love hath spoken.In the year that’s come and gone, dear, we wove a tetherAll of gracious words and thoughts, binding two together.In the year that’s coming on with its wealth of rosesWe shall weave it stronger,…