Poems by Arthur Symons

Spring is come back, and the little voices are calling,
The birds are calling, the little gre...

The moonlight touched the sombre waters white.
Beneath the bridge 'twas darker. Was she cold?
S...

White-robed against the threefold white
Of shutter, glass, and curtain's lace,
She flashed i...

TO WALTER SICKERT The grey-green stretch of sandy grass,
Indefinitely desolate;
A sea of lea...

Out of the night of the sea,
Out of the turbulent night,
A sharp and hurrying wind
Scourges ...

Only to live, only to be
In Venice, is enough for me.
To be a beggar, and to lie
At home be...

Night, and the silence of the night,
In Venice; far away, a song;
As if the lyric water mad...

I When the sobbing lute complains,
Grieving for an ancient sorrow,
This poor sorrow that rem...