I The day she visited the dissecting room They had four men laid out, black as burnt turkey, Already half unstrung. A…

‘What are the bugles blowin’ for?’ said Files-on-Parade. ‘To turn you out, to turn you out,’ the Colour-Sergeant said. ‘What makes you…

“These were never your true love’s eyes. Why do you feign that you love them? You that broke from their constancies, And…

He would declare and could himself believe That the birds there in all the garden round From having heard the daylong voice…

Fame is a bee. It has a song – It has a sting – Ah, too, it has a wing.

I A washing hangs upon the line,     but it’s not mine. None of the things that I can see     belong to me….