“Bird, my heart has taken wings,” Whispered she, with sorrowful eyes. “In the raging wind it sings, In the sun it cries, it cries.” 1910. _A Home-Coming_ “He was a wilful chap,” said one “—The kind that often dies alone.” “He shamed us all,” another said: “’Tis just as well that he be dead.” “Poor Jack, poor Jack,” a third one sighed. “He swam to Bere against the tide “And beat John Hawkins, on the green. It’s long since such a lad was seen.” A fourth one laughed: “’Twould seem the town He loved so well has let him down. “A poor thin corpse ’tis, to be sure, That he’s brought home to make manure.” They swathed his body, tall and slim, Then screwed the oak lid down on him. They put him in his deep-dug hole, And bawled responses for his soul. But, ere the gaping earth did close, One frail hand threw a frail white rose. _The Kiss_ Cold it was, Dear, when you kissed me: Still I hear the steady drips Of the wet from leaves and branches As we huddled ’neath the tree: I can feel your arms about me, And your lips upon my lips, And it’s you alone I dream of, —Though you’ve soon forgotten me. _On the Promenade_ (_March Winds: Seaford_) “I never will see you again, Nor go walking with you, nor be friends; You have rumpled my hair in the rain— This foolishness ends! You can carry your kisses elsewhere: I call it low To paw one about like a bear— You can go!” “Oh, you baby, to take it like that— Why, you’d better sit down in the shelter And polish your shoes on the mat— I’m off to the downs, helter-skelter! For it’s Heaven to race in the wind, With the rain in your eyes, on your cheek, And perhaps, on the top of the hill, by the cliff, I shall find A fairy will speak! “Oh, yes, there are fairies up there, With faces fresh in the dew— The wild wind kisses their wild long hair, And they run by the side of you. “I’m sorry you’re angry, like this, But I don’t think I want to be friends—” “If I gave you your kiss— Would that make amends?” _June_ The clasped hand, the low laugh and the trill of love, Intimate whisper and long look and sinking head That sinks but to be captured, while, above, The stars stand motionless, the tree seems dead. Cold, in the stillness, looks the thin moon down; Far off are murmuring sea and restless town— As far as life and death and common things— For two to-night know joy, a joy that sings. _To ——_ Sleep sound, Oh my love —Closed eyes, gentle breath— While I whisper, so you will not hear, Things I cannot tell you this side death. _The Case of Pierrot_ When I lie down in my bed Forty devils guard my head, They don’t let me sleep, They laugh when I weep. All night long they sneer and sneer: “Dead heart, cruel heart, Do you know where she is? How she moans! Don’t you hear? Under the madman’s kiss.