For no man under the sky lives twice.

For the worst is this after all; if they knew me, not a soul upon earth would pity me.

Wind is lord and change is sovereign of the strand.

For the crown of our life as it closes Is darkness, the fruit thereof dust; No thorns go as deep as a rose’s, And love is more cruel than lust. Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives; And marriage and death and division Make barren our lives.

For the crown of our life as it closes Is darkness, the fruit thereof dust; No thorns go as deep as a rose’s, And love is more cruel than lust.

Love lies bleeding in the bed whereover Roses lean with smiling mouths or pleading: Earth lies laughing where the sun’s dart clove her: Love lies bleeding.

If you were Queen of pleasure And I were King of pain We’d hunt down Love together, Pluck out his flying-feather, And teach his feet a measure, And find his mouth a rein; If you were Queen of pleasure And I were King of pain.

And lo, between the sundawn and the sun His day’s work and his night’s work are undone: And lo, between the nightfall and the light, He is not, and none knoweth of such an one.

A baby’s feet, like sea-shells pink Might tempt, should heaven see meet, An angel’s lips to kiss, we think, A baby’s feet.

Fierce midnights and famishing morrows, And the loves that complete and control All the joys of the flesh, all the sorrows That wear out the soul.