And here desire, not to be kissed away.
The eyes of this dead lady speak to me.
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Did I ‘ear it ‘arf in a doze:
Did I ‘ear it while pickin’ ‘ops;How they better start takin’ care,That the papers were gettin’ togetherAnd the larger stores were likewiseConsidering something that would, as youMight say, be a surpriseTo the Co-ops, a echo or somethin’?They tell me that branded goodsDon’t get a discount like Mr. SelfridgeOf 25 per cent, on their ads., and…
DIFFERENCE OF OPINION WITH
Tell me the truths which you hear of our constant young lady,Lygdamus,And may the bought yoke of a mistress lie withequitable weight on your shoulders;For I am swelled up with inane pleasurabilitiesand deceived by your referenceTo things which you think I would like to believe.No messenger should come wholly empty,and a slave should fear plausibilities;Much…
Cydonian Spring with her attendant train,
Stepping beneath a boisterous wind from Thrace,Throughout this sylvan placeSpreads the bright tips,And every vine-stock isClad in new brilliancies.And wild desireFalls like black lightning.bewildered heart,Though every branch have back what last year lost,She, who moved here amid the cyclamen,Moves only now a clinging tenuous ghost.
Luini in porcelain!
Utters a profaneProtest with her clear soprano.The sleek head emergesFrom the gold-yellow frockAs Anadyomene in the openingPages of Reinach.Honey-red, closing the face-oval,A basket-work of braids which seem as if they wereSpun in King Minos’ hallFrom metal, or intractable amber;The face-oval beneath the glaze,Bright in its suave bounding-line, as,Beneath half-watt rays,The eyes turn topaz.
FROM THE ITALIAN OF LEOPARDI
Who art nowBut buried dust and rusted skeleton.Above the bones and mire,Motionless, placed in vain,Mute mirror of the flight of speeding years,Sole guard of griefSole guard of memoryStandeth this image of the beauty sped.O glance, when thou wast still as thou art now,How hast thou set the fireA-tremble in men’s veins; lip curved highTo mind…
BALLAD FOR THE TIMES’ SPECIAL SILVER NUMBER
Is what has set us pining,Montague, Montague!In the season sad and wearyWhen our minds are very bleary,Montague, Montague!There is Sir Hen. DeterdingHis phrases interlarding,Montague, Montague!With the this and that and whatFor putting silver on the spot,Montague, Montague!Just drop it in the slotAnd it will surely boil the pot,Montague, Montague!Gold, of course, is solid too,But some…