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I Have Known The Lure Of Cities And The Bright Gleam
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I Pass My Days In Ghostly Presences
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Sonnets: II. Invoking Not The Worship Of The Crowd
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Against My Wall The Summer Weaves
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We Wove A Fillet For Thy Head
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Each Mote That Staggers Down The Sun
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Sonnets: III. And Yet Think Not That I Desire To Seal
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Into The Trembling Air
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Now The Sick Earth Revives, And In The Sun
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He Is A Priest
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