EPIGRAMS

a girl

You were that clear Sicilian fluting
That pains our thought even now.
You were the notes
Of cold fantastic grief
Some few found beautiful.

new love

She has new leaves
After her dead flowers,
Like the little almond-tree
Which the frost hurt.

october

The beech-leaves are silver
For lack of the tree's blood.
At your kiss my lips
Become like the autumn beech-leaves.