The half-shut doors through which we heard that music

anchor-frost and seaward, the lighthouse moon—the bellbuoy-beating moon, the tiderip bronzeringing above deep channels and old bones,the hawsehole moon, where blood and money runs—foremast and mainmast moon, up harbor still,island and smokestack moon, and the wind-spillfalling from the sail-throat for the moon to fill—up harbor, the old wharf moon, the capstan moon,and round it the…

And the crowd dissolves about them like a sea.Recurring waves of sound break vaguely about them,They drift from wall to wall, from tree to tree.‘Well, am I late?’ Upward they look and laugh,They look at the great clock’s golden hands,They laugh and talk, not knowing what they say:Only, their words like music seem to play;And…

rolls back blue bays to a far afternoon.Somewhere beyond the Gorge Li Po is gone,looking for friendship or an old love’s sleeveor writing letters to his children, lost,and to his children’s children, and to us.What was his light? of lamp or moon or sun?Say that it changed, for better or for worse,sifted by leaves, sifted…

The yellow lights went climbing towards the sky.From high black walls, gleaming vaguely with rain,Each yellow light looked down like a golden eye.They trembled from coign to coign, and tower to tower,Along high terraces quicker than dream they flew.And some of them steadily glowed, and some soon vanished,And some strange shadows threw.And behind them all…

He suddenly lost his leader, and all the players,And only heard an immortal music sung,-Of dryads flashing in the green woods of April,On cobwebs trembling over the deep, wet grass:Fleeing their shadows with laughter, with hands uplifted,Through the whirled sinister sun he saw them pass,-Lovely immortals gone, yet existing somewhere,Still somewhere laughing in woods of…

With roots bared to the sun and starsAnd limp leaves brought to earth —Torn from its house —So do I seem to myselfWhen you have left me.

Remembrance. Died in October. Died at Sea.Who died at sea? The name of the seaportEscapes her, gone, blown with the eastwind, overThe tombs and yews, into the apple orchard,Over the road, where gleams a wagon-top,And gone. The eastwind gallops up from seaBringing salt and gulls. The marsh smell, too,Strong in September; mud and reeds, the…

In cruel granite, to discloseThe soft things that in hardness lie,So this one, taking up his heart,Which time and change had made a stone,Carved out of it with dolorous art,Laboring yearlong and alone,The thing there hidden—rose, toad, wing?A frog’s hand on a lily pad?Bees in a cobweb?—no such thing!A girl’s head was the thing he…

And he must seek his bread in high pale sunlightWith gulls about him, and clouds just over his eyes . . .And so he did not mention his dream of fallingBut drank his coffee in silence, and heard in his earsThat horrible whistle of wind, and felt his breathSucked out of him, and saw the…

out of the silence, the stillness, the preceding—speaking clearly, speaking slowly, measuring calmlythe heavy syllables of doubt, or of despair—speaking passionately, speaking bitterly, hunger or hopeordering the words, that are like sounds of flame—:if one speaks first, before that other or the third,out of the silence bringing the dark message,the grave and great acceptance of…

And sees the advancing curtain of the showerSplashing its silver on roofs and walls:Sees how, swift as a shadow, it crosses the city,And murmurs beyond far walls to the sea,Leaving a glimmer of water in the dark canyons,And silver falling from eave and tree.One, from his high bright window, looking down,Peers like a dreamer over…

And youth, that’s now so bravely spending,Will beg a penny by and by.Fine ladies soon are all forgotten,And goldenrod is dust when dead,The sweetest flesh and flowers are rottenAnd cobwebs tent the brightest head.Come back, true love! Sweet youth, return!–But time goes on, and will, unheeding,Though hands will reach, and eyes will yearn,And the wild…