From the Large Print - Large print ed.
Three songs of shattering
Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring
Not in this chamber only at my birth
If I should learn, in some quite casual way
To the not impossible him
The singing-woman from the wood's edge
I do but ask that you be always fair
Love, though for this you riddle me with darts
I think I should have loved you presently
Oh, think not I am faithful to a vow
I shall forget you presently, my dear
To a poet that died young
Doubt no more that Oberon
We talk of taxes, and I call you friend
Into the golden vessel of great song
Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter
Only until this cigarette is ended
Once more into my arid days like dew
No rose that in a garden ever grew
When I too long have looked upon your face
And you as well must die, beloved dust
Let you not say of me when I am old
Oh, my beloved, have you thought of this
As to some lovely temple, tenantless
Cherish you that the hope I shall forget.
