Ah, no; the years, the years; Down their carved names the raindrop plows.

I am the family face; Flesh perishes, I live on, Projecting trait and trace Through time to times anon, And leaping from place to place Over oblivion.

When the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay, And the May month flaps its glad green leaves like wings, Delicate-filmed as new-spun silk, …

Only a man harrowing clods In a slow silent walk With an old horse that stumbles and nods Half asleep as they stalk. Only thin smoke without flame From the hea…

'Do not die that we may not die,' the dead cry out within you. 'We had no time to enjoy the women we desired; be in time, sleep with them! We had no time to tu…

A place in thy memory, dearest, Is all that I claim; To pause and look back when thou hearest The sound of my name.

The world's great day is growing late, Yet strange these fields that we have planted So long with crops of love and hate.