Thro' the roar of alien sound
Grimy noise of work-a-day,
Secretly a voice, half drowned,
Whispers thro' the evening's grey,
"Child, we know the path you tread,
Ghost and manes, we are true;
Cedar spirits, long since dead,
Calm and sweet abide with you."
[CHE SARÀ SARÀ]
Deep as the permanent earth is deep,
Fierce as its central fire,
Man is his own conclusion,
Woman her great desire.
[THE DEAD WANTON]
She was so light, so frail a thing,
She had no wisdom but her face,
Which caught men's fancy like the Spring
Yet held them but a moment's space.
She is the youngest of the dead,
And so the great lean round her feet;
They strive to learn from her fair head
Why far-forgotten life was sweet.
For now she knows what Plato knows,
And lapped in languor she agrees
With Kant, and as her soft hair blows,
Smiling, she flouts Demosthenes.