«I died. The sycamores gave shade; / shutters were shut upon the dust / of the hot streets steamily teased / by the torrid Aeolus. / / I slowly walked, and the fauns walked; / It seemed as though I recognised / the great god Pan in every faun. / Good. I must be in Paradise. / / ...»
«I died. The sycamores and shutters / along the dusty street were teased / by torrid Aeolus. I walked, / and fauns walked, and in every faun / god Pan I seemed to recognize: / Good. I must be in Paradise. Shielding her face and to the sparkling sun /...»
«And you, my dear friends, ones of the last selection, / My life was saved to ever mourn you. / Not, like a willow, to cool in lamentation, / But cry your names the whole planet through! But what of names! / We are together always! / All on yo...»
«There are faces so rich as the portals / Where the great is felt apart in the small. / There are faces that similar to the wretched hovels / Where the liver they cook and get wet the maw. / The others are cold or almost have the dead faces, / Closed by grates, like a dungeon that is so da...»