How many a British soldier went to death Beneath an Afric sun with some small gift, A pocketknife inlaid with precious stones, A case for cigarettes, or watch and chain, Which had been given him by Oscar Wilde. _WE HANG UPON A SCAFFOLD_ We hang upon a scaffold, lad, The skeleton within Is all the horror of the world, Of virtue and of sin. For he who knows no word of love, Nor has his heart’s desire, Must hang the same and die the same As he who walks in fire. Then hang upon your scaffold, lad The mob will pierce your side, Yet cry your triumph and your pain, For man is crucified. _I LOOKED INTO YOUR EYES_ I looked into your eyes and saw, Or thought I saw, your love. I tried to hide my own from you; Not ever spoken of. Yet, there was something I could feel Electrify the air When both of us were quite alone And no one else was there. And when at last I spoke my love, And wanting yours for me, I looked into your eyes and knew Such love was not to be. _OF THIS GREAT VOICELESS LOVE_ Of this great voiceless love of mine for you There is no word to your heart out of mine That may go winging through the whispering night. Look only then for laughter in my letters As I from day to day _The Fool_ rehearse. And if one blushing phrase too boldly written Inscribes too fervently that I am yours, Believe it only penmanship and style, Or the careless informality of friends. _I WOULD HAVE BROUGHT YOU FIRE_ I would have brought you fire for those nights When you were cold and lonely and in doubt. I would have brought you laughter for your tears And given you new dreams to dream about. But look away, your eyes are much too bright, And sorrow has lent beauty to your face, And should I cast aside this cloak of years And live forever after in disgrace-- It is an old temptation sprung anew, Yet must not be. Ah, look at me and you shall see I am, my love, as miserable as you! _TOO MUCH OF LIFE_ Too much of life we spend alone, Too many thoughts are ours to share, Too little love we call our own Though multitudes of men are there. We’re strangers undetermined of Where madness rules the lives of men, Where he who dares design of love Lives not to dare the deed again. Beware of love! Be lonely, lad. There is no death that can compare Where loving hearts are crucified, And multitudes of men are there. _LONE CELLO_