THE REFINED MAN

I was of delicate mind. I stepped aside for my needs,
Disdaining the common office. I was seen from afar and killed. . . .
How is this matter for mirth? Let each man be judged by his deeds.
I have paid my price to live with myself on the terms that I willed.

A DRIFTER OFF TARENTUM

He from the wind-bitten North with ship and companions descended,
Searching for eggs of death spawned by invisible hulls.
Many he found and drew forth. Of a sudden the fishery ended
In flame and a clamorous breath known to the eye-pecking gulls.

A DEAD STATESMAN

I could not dig: I dared not rob:
Therefore I lied to please the mob.
Now all my lies are proved untrue
And I must face the men I slew.
What tale shall serve me here among
Mine angry and defrauded young?

THE COWARD

I could not look on Death, which being known,
Men led me to him, blindfold and alone.

COMMON FORM

If any question why we died,
Tell them, because our fathers lied.

THE BRIDEGROOM

Call me not false, beloved,
If, from thy scarce-known breast
So little time removed,
In other arms I rest.

For this more ancient bride,
Whom coldly I embrace,
Was constant at my side
Before I saw thy face.

Our marriage, often set —
By miracle delayed —
At last is consummate,
And cannot be unmade.

THE BEGINNER

On the first hour of my first day
In the front trench I fell.
(Children in boxes at a play
Stand up to watch it well.)

BATTERIES OUT OF AMMUNITION

If any mourn us in the workshop, say
We died because the shift kept holiday.

Hibernia's Helicon is dry,
Invention, wit and humour die,
And what remains against the storm
Of malice, but an empty form?
The nodding ruins of a pile
That stood the bulwark of this isle;
In which the sisterhood was fixed
Of candid honour, truth unmixed,
Imperial reason, thought profound,
And charity, diffusing round
In cheerful rivulets the flow
Of fortune to the sons of woe.
Such once, my N[u]g[en]t, was thy Swift,
Endued with each exalted gift.
But, lo! the pure ethereal flame
Is darkened by a misty steam:

Enough of Thought, Philosopher
Too long hast thou been dreaming
Unlightened, in this chamber drear
While summer's sun is beaming —
Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain
Concludes thy musings once again?

" O for the time when I shall sleep
Without identity,
And never care how rain may steep
Or snow may cover me!

" No promised Heaven, these wild Desires
Could all or half fulfil;
No threathened Hell, with quenchless fires,
Subdue this quenchless will! "

— So said I, and still say the same;