The stars hang thick in the apple… The south wind smells of the punge… Gold tulip cups are heavy with dew… The night’s for you, Sweetheart,… Starfire rains from the vaulted bl…

Softly the water ripples Against the canoe’s curving side, Softly the birch trees rustle Flinging over us branches wide. Softly the moon glints and glisten…

It was a gusty night, With the wind booming, and swoopin… Looping round corners, Sliding over the cobble-stones, Whipping and veering,

Look, Dear, how bright the moonli… See where it casts the shadow of t… Far out upon the grass. And every… Of light night wind comes laden wi… Of opening flowers which never blo…

Over the yawning chimney hangs the… fall the raindrops on the oaken lo… and smokes the ceiling beams. Drip… The wide, state bed shivers beneat… in the smoke, a tarnished coronet…

High up in the apple tree climbing… With the sky above me, the earth b… Each branch is the step of a wonde… Which leads to the town I see shi… Climbing, climbing, higher and hig…

I have painted a picture of a ghos… Upon my kite, And hung it on a tree. Later, when I loose the string And let it fly,

Gushing from the mouths of stone m… To spread at ease under the sky In granite-lipped basins, Where iris dabble their feet And rustle to a passing wind,

The wind is singing through the tr… A deep-voiced song of rushing cade… And crashing intervals. No summer… Is this, though hot July is at it… Gone is her gentler music; with de…

White, glittering sunlight fills t… Spotted and sprigged with shadows.… Of bartering booths spread out the… Of globed and golden fruit, the mo… Smells sweet with ripeness, on the…

The Poet took his walking-stick Of fine and polished ebony. Set in the close-grained wood Were quaint devices; Patterns in ambers,

You ask me for a sonnet. Ah, my D… Can clocks tick back to yesterday… Can cracked and fallen leaves reca… And leap up on the boughs, now sti… For your sake, I would go and see…

Near where I live there is a lake As blue as blue can be, winds make It dance as they go blowing by. I think it curtseys to the sky. It’s just a lake of lovely flowers

A near horizon whose sharp jags Cut brutally into a sky Of leaden heaviness, and crags Of houses lift their masonry Ugly and foul, and chimneys lie

Dear Bessie, would my tired rhyme Had force to rise from apathy, And shaking off its lethargy Ring word-tones like a Christmas… But in my soul’s high belfry, chil…