You will not see that desire begets love, until it all flames into one concise and metallic blaze..

It is no madness to say you will fall, you great cities..

War is a fevered god who takes alike maiden and king and clod..

Lovers may come and go, there was the memory of blood, the low call..

Love, why have you sought the horde of spearsmen, why the tent Achilles pitched beside the river-ford?.

When the shingles hissed in the rain incendiary, other values were revealed to us.

I fear no man, no woman; flower does not fear bird, insect nor adder..

The stallion and his mare, unbridled, with arrow-pattern, are worked on. the blue cloth before the door of religion and inspiration..

Thoth, Hermes, the stylus, the palette, the pen, the quill endure, though our books are a floor of smouldering ash under our feet..

Music sets up ladders, it makes us invisible, it sets us apart, it lets us escape; but from the visible there is no escape..

Cheat me not with time, with the dull ache of flesh, for all flesh turns, even the loveliest ankle and frail thigh, to bitterest dust..

Alas, day, you brought light, You trailed splendour You showed us god: I salute you, most precious one, But I go to a new place, Another life..

Until it seems the whole city will be covered with gold pollen shaken from the bell-towers, lilies plundered with the weight of massive bees . . ..

Maid of the luminous grey-eyes, Mistress of honey and marble implacable white thighs and Goddess, chaste daughter of Zeus..

That way of inspiration is always open, and open to everyone; it acts as go-between, interpreter, it explains symbols of the past in to-day's imagery..

A slight wind shakes the seed-pods my thoughts are spent as the black seeds..

Why wait for Death to mow? why wait for Death to sow us in the ground?.

Fall the deep curtains, delicate the weave, fair the thread..

Take what the old-church found in Mithra's tomb, candle and script and bell, take what the new-church spat upon and broke and shattered..

Light threatens, is active, is gone, so it is with a song..

There must be real gods see, the painted gods how fair!.