His Will

He wills

To bé

Alone

With thée :

A stone;

A stream;

A ský ;

A treé ;

It is

His

Dream

To bé

Alone

With these

And thée

Note: The letters marked with an accent are to be prolonged for as long as it is possible to sound them. Count two beats of that duration at the end of each line, and for the silences between each verse. These sounds and silences are to be considered as one rhythmic utterance.

The Rose In The Wind

Dip and swing,
Lift and sway ;
Dream a life,
In a dream, away. Like a dream
In a sleep
Is the rose
In the wind ;

And a fish
In the deep ;
And a man
In the mind :

Dreaming to lack
All that is his ;
Dreaming to gain
All that he is.

Dreaming a life,
In a dream, away ;
Dip and swing,
Lift and sway

On a Lonely Spray

Under a lonely sky a lonely tree
Is beautiful. All that is loneliness
Is beautiful. A feather lost at sea,
A starling owl, a moth, a yellow tress
Of seaweed on a rock, is beautiful. The night-lit moon, wide-wandering in sky;
A blue-right spark, where ne'er a cloud is up ;
A wing where no wing is, it is so high ;
A bee in winter, and a buttercup,
Late-blown, are lonely, and are beautiful.

She, whom you saw but once, and saw no more ;
That he, who startled you, and went away ;
The eye that watched you from a cottage door ;
The first leaf, and the last ; the break of day ;
The mouse, the cuckoo, and the cloud, are beautiful.

For all that is, is lonely; all that may
Will be as lonely as is that you see ;
The lonely heart sings on a lonely spray,
The lonely soul swings lonely in the sea,
And all that loneliness is beautiful.

All, all alone, and all without a pert
Is beautiful, for beauty is all where ;
Where is an eye is beauty, where am heart
Is beauty, brooding out, on empty air,
All that is lonely and is beautiful.

Chill of The Eve

A long, green swell
Slopes soft to the sea,
And a far-off bell
Swings sweet to me,
As the grey, chill day
Slips away from the lea. Spread cold and far,
Without one glow
From a mild, pale star,
Is the sky's steel bow,
And the grey, chill day
Slips away below.

That green tree grieves
To the air around,
And the whispering leaves
Have a lonely sound,
As the grey, chill day
Slips away from the ground

The long grass bends
With a rippling rush
To the soft, white ends
Where the roots are lush,
And the grey, chill day
Slips away in a bush.

Down by the shore
The slow waves twine
From the rock-strewn floor
To the shell-edged line,
And the grey, chill day
Slips away with a whine.

And dark, more dark,
The shades settle down,
Far off is a spark
From the lamp-lit town,
And the grey, chill day
Slips away with a frown.