The Last Evening
And night and distant rumbling; now the army’s Carrier-train was moving out, to war. He looked up from the harpsichord, and as He went on playing, he looked across at her Almost as one
Black Cat
A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place Your sight can knock on, echoing; but here Within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze Will be absorbed and utterly disappear: Just as a
Self-Portrait
The steadfastness of generations of nobility Shows in the curving lines that form the eyebrows. And the blue eyes still show traces of childhood fears And of humility here and there, not of a
The Grown-Up
All this stood upon her and was the world And stood upon her with all its fear and grace As trees stand, growing straight up, imageless Yet wholly image, like the Ark of God,