Adam, a brown old vulture in the rain

And still they come and go: and this is all I know

Dusk in the rain-soaked garden

Everyone suddenly burst out singing

Fall in! Now get a move on. (Curse the rain.)

Fires in the dark you build; tall quivering flames

Frail Travellers, deftly flickering over the flowers

Have you forgotten yet?

I dreamt I saw a huge grey boat in silence steaming

If you could crowd them into forty lines!

I heard a clash, and a cry

I love all things that pass: their briefness is

I never asked you to be perfect—did I?

In the grey summer garden I shall find you

I stood with the Dead, so forsaken and still

I’ve had a good bump round; my little horse

I was near the King that day. I saw him snatch

O beauty doomed and perfect for an hour

Out in the blustering darkness, on the deck

Sleep; and my song shall build about your bed

Sleepless I listen to the surge and drone

Some Brave, awake in you to-night

Squire nagged and bullied till I went to fight

They are gathering round

They know not the green leaves

This job’s the best I’ve done. He bent his head

Voices moving about in the quiet house

When I was young my heart and head were light

When you are standing at your hero’s grave

Why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled

You like my bird-sung gardens: wings and flowers

Your dextrous wit will haunt us long

You think I cannot understand. Ah, but I do

You were glad to-night: and now you’ve gone away