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Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.

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Music, my rampart and my only one.

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What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,I have forgotten, and what arms have lainUnder my head till morning, but the rainIs full of ghosts t...more

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Catch from the board of beauty/ Such careless crumbs as fall.

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No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.

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Listen, children:Your father is dead.From his old coatsI'll make you little jackets;I'll make you little trousersFrom his old pants.There'll be in his...more

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Searching my heart for its true sorrow, This is the thing I find to be: That I am weary of words and people, Sick of the city, wanting the sea.

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Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would noteIn me a beauty that was never mine,How first you knew me in a book I wrote,How first you loved me for ...more

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I would I were alive again to kiss the fingers of the rain.

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Lie down beside these watersThat bubble from the spring;Hear in the desert silenceThe desert sparrow sing;Draw from the shapeless momentSuch pattern a...more

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Now goes under, and I watch it go under, the sunThat will not rise again.Today has seen the setting, in your eyes cold and senseless as the sea,Of fri...more

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TO what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I kn...more

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Still must the poet as of old,In barren attic bleak and cold,Starve, freeze, and fashion verses toSuch things as flowers and song and you;Still as of ...more

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My candle burns at both ends;It will not last the night;But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—It gives a lovely light!

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After all, my erstwhile dear,My no longer cherished,Need we say it was not love,Just because it perished?