A frail, dead, new-born lamb, ghostly and pitiful and white.

A blot upon the night,

The moon’s dropped child!

THE NARROW DOOR

The narrow door, the narrow door

On the three steps of which the café children play

Mostly at shop with pebbles from the shore,

It is always shut this narrow door

But open for a little while to-day.

And round it, each with pebbles in his hand,