The Award Of A Pure

Any Honest Housewife Would Sort Them Out,/ Having A Nose For Fish, An Eye For Apples.

I Was Last In Rome In Ad 540 When It Was Full Of Goths And Their Heavy Horses. It Has Changed A Great Deal Since Then.

Let All The Poison That Lurks In The Mud, Hatch Out.

Through The Window I Can See Rooks Above The Cherry-tree, Sparrows In The Violet Bed, Bramble-bush And Bumble-bee, And Old Red Bracken Smoulders Still Among Boulders On The Hill, Far Too Bright To Seem Quite Dead. But Old Death, Who Can't Forget, Waits His Time And Watches Yet, Waits And Watches By The Door.

Lovers To-day And For All Time Preserve The Meaning Of My Rhyme: Love Is Not Kindly Nor Yet Grim But Does To You As You To Him.