“All roads are completed,” she said.

“A tired time beauty is perfect through all windows,

Her autograph is legible on every hill-head.”

“No need now

Dark labourings in pain

The sculptured moods of thought

Are cleansed by simple rain.”

“Grieve never

Though the laugh of hurrying love

Passes too high—

There are star-subtle fingers the cloud-senses above.”

“To morrow

A different exult will hold

And today and all days gone

Will be a steady distanced charm

A moment old.”