End of Summer
An agitation of the air,
A perturbation of the light
Admonished me the unloved year
Would turn on its hinge that night. . . .
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The End of the World
“We're going,” they said, “to the end of the world.”
So they stopped the car where the river curled,
And we scrambled down beneath the bridge . . .
England in 1819
An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying King;
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow
Through public scorn,—mud from a muddy spring; . . .
Enough
I am wearing dark glasses inside the house
To match my dark mood.
. . .
Entirely
If we could get the hang of it entirely
It would take too long;
All we know is the splash of words in passing . . .
Envy
This rose-tree is not made to bear
The violet blue, nor lily fair,
Nor the sweet mignionet: . . .
Epilogue
At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time,
When you set your fancies free,
Will they pass to where—by death, fools think, imprisoned—
. . .
Epilogue
Those blessèd structures, plot and rhyme—
why are they no help to me now
I want to make . . .
Epitaph
What on Earth deserves our trust?
Youth and Beauty both are dust.
Long we gathering are with pain,
. . .
Epitaph on the Lady Mary Villiers
This little vault, this narrow room,
Of Love, and Beauty, is the tomb;
The dawning beam that gan to clear . . .