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The Cup of Comus [11]
The Intruder [13]
A Ghost of Yesterday [15]
Lords of the Visionary Eye [16]
The Creaking Door [18]
At the End of the Road [20]
The Troubadour of Trebizend [21]
Ghosts [23]
The Lonely Land [24]
The Wind Witch [27]
Old Ghosts [28]
The Name on the Tree [29]
The Haunted Garden [31]
The Closed Door [33]
The Long Room [34]
In Pearl and Gold [35]
Moon Fairies [37]
Haec Olim Meminisse [40]
The Magic Purse [41]
The Child at the Gate [42]
The Lost Dream [44]
Witchcraft [45]
Transposed Seasons [46]
The Old Dreamer [47]
A Last Word [49]
The Shadow [50]
On the Road [52]
Reconciliation [53]
Portents [55]
The Iron Crags [57]
The Iron Cross [58]
The Wanderer [60]
The End of Summer [62]
The Lust of the World [63]
Chant Before Battle [64]
Nearing Christmas [65]
A Belgian Christmas [67]
The Festival of the Aisne [69]
The Cry of Earth [70]
Child and Father [71]
The Rising of the Moon [72]
Where the Battle Passed [73]
The Iron Age [74]
The Battle [75]
On Re-reading Certain German Poets [76]
On Opening an Old School Volume of Horace [77]
Laus Deo [78]
The New York Skyscraper [79]
Robert Browning [80]
Riley [81]
Don Quixote [82]
The Woman [83]
The Song of Songs [84]
Oglethorpe [90]
A Poet's Epitaph [96]
THE CUP OF COMUS
PROEM
The Nights of song and story,
With breath of frost and rain,
Whose locks are wild and hoary,
Whose fingers tap the pane
With leaves, are come again.
The Nights of old October,
That hug the hearth and tell,
To child and grandsire sober,
Tales of what long befell
Of witch and warlock spell.
Nights, that, like gnome and faery,
Go, lost in mist and moon.
And speak in legendary
Thoughts or a mystic rune,
Much like the owlet's croon.
Or whirling on like witches,
Amid the brush and broom,
Call from the Earth its riches,
Of leaves and wild perfume,
And strew them through the gloom.
Till death, in all his starkness,
Assumes a form of fear,
And somewhere in the darkness
Seems slowly drawing near
In raiment torn and sere.