Three Quatrains     

        I 

      As long as Fame's imperious music rings Will poets mock it with crowned words august; And haggard men will clamber to be kings As long as Glory weighs itself in dust. 

        II 

      Drink to the splendor of the unfulfilled, Nor shudder for the revels that are done:      The wines that flushed Lucullus are all spilled, The strings that Nero fingered are all gone. 

        III 

      We cannot crown ourselves with everything, Nor can we coax the Fates for us to quarrel:      No matter what we are, or what we sing, Time finds a withered leaf in every laurel. 

  

       The World     

      Some are the brothers of all humankind, And own them, whatsoever their estate; And some, for sorrow and self-scorn, are blind With enmity for man's unguarded fate. For some there is a music all day long Like flutes in Paradise, they are so glad; And there is hell's eternal under-song Of curses and the cries of men gone mad. Some say the Scheme with love stands luminous, Some say 't were better back to chaos hurled; And so 't is what we are that makes for us The measure and the meaning of the world. 

  

       An Old Story     

      Strange that I did not know him then, That friend of mine! I did not even show him then One friendly sign; But cursed him for the ways he had To make me see My envy of the praise he had       For praising me. I would have rid the earth of him Once, in my pride! . . . I never knew the worth of him Until he died. 

  

       Ballade of a Ship     

      Down by the flash of the restless water The dim White Ship like a white bird lay; Laughing at life and the world they sought her, And out she swung to the silvering bay. Then off they flew on their roystering way, And the keen moon fired the light foam flying Up from the flood where the faint stars play, And the bones of the 

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