Friend sparrow, do not eat, I pray
The little buzzing flies that play
Among my flowers.

Sappho to Chloe

Friend!
Poor, foolish blossom!
How thou shinest for him who
Dishevels thee, and withers thee.

Lo, such a man.
The thrall he is!
His doings loud and running.
Could we be so?
Only a woman walks.
She is, and beauty tarries thence,
Red little ears of curls are opened.

Scents my blood to thee as thine to me?
No, Chloe.
It scenteth not.
Beauty thou knowest not, nor beauty's longing,
The seeking wind of the May of flowers,
Thou knowest it not.

Without a soul through me thou roamest

Why should my heart
remain stained
by blossoms,
when I thought
I had tossed all that away?

Friend, do you remember the time we went
into that lofty hotel, that grand hotel, in Leeds?
That spacious, that noisy, that solemn hotel,
that formidable, terrifying hotel, and the four of us
together: you and Ilyanus and his girl?
When all eyes
sent angry arrows at us,
remember?
First we sat in a far corner, then got up
and moved toward the center,
sat there under the full glare of the lights
drinking and chatting,
half serious, half amused,
discussing things,
remember? How we wanted to stay there all night,

Friend Col and I, both full of whim,
To shun each other oft agree;
For I'm not beau enough for him,
And he's too much a beau for me.
Then let us from each other fly,
And arm in arm no more appear;
That I may ne'er offend your eye,
That you may ne'er offend my ear.

Friday came and the circus was there,
And Mother said that the twins and I
And Charles and Clarence and all of us
Could go out and see the parade go by.

And there were wagons with pictures on,
And you never could guess what they had inside,
Nobody could guess, for the doors were shut,
And there was a dog that a monkey could ride.

A man on the top of a sort of a cart
Was clapping his hands and making a talk.
And the elephant came—he can step pretty far—
It made us laugh to see him walk.

Three beautiful ladies came riding by,

Fresh from the dewy hill, the merry year
Smiles on my head, and mounts his flaming car;
Round my young brows the laurel wreathes a shade,
And rising glories beam around my head.

My feet are wing'd, while o'er the dewy lawn
I meet my maiden, risen like the morn:
Oh bless those holy feet, like angels' feet;
Oh bless those limbs, beaming with heav'nly light!

Like as an angel glitt'ring in the sky
In times of innocence and holy joy;
The joyful shepherd stops his grateful song
To hear the music of an angel's tongue.

The fresh, bright bloom of the daffodils
Makes gold in the garden bed,
Gold that is like the sunbeams
Loitering overhead.
Bloom, bloom
In the sun and the wind, —
April hath a fickle mind.

The budding twigs of the sweetbrier
Stir as with hope and bliss
Under the sun's soft glances,
Under the wind's sly kiss.
Swing, swing
In the sun and the wind, —
April hath a fickle mind.

May, she calls to her little ones,
Her flowers hiding away,
" Never put off till to-morrow
What you may do to-day.
Come, come

Fresh and fair the morn awaketh,
From her couch of down;
Parting kiss her lover taketh,
Ere his daily journey maketh
Of the world around.

For a jolly-hearted rover,
Ever full of fun,
Making calls the wide world over,
Flower and leaf, and blade and clover,
Welcome him, the sun.

Gloom from weary hearts dispelleth,
Shedding joy and light
O'er the homes where sorrow dwelleth,
Of eternal sunshine telleth,
And the mansions bright.

Evening's gentle voice is pleading,
But he will not stay;

French spoken
across the snow
on Sheep Meadow
evokes a very rich hour
of the Duke of Berry …
three men traversing
a field of snow—
one of them alone—
hedged by trees
on the south side
where the towers
of the city rise …
one of those hours
in early afternoon
when nothing happens
but time makes room