A drifting, April, twilight sky, A wind which blew the puddles dry, And slapped the river into waves That ran and hid among the staves Of an old wharf. A watery light

The rain gullies the garden paths And tinkles on the broad sides of… A tree, at the end of my arm, is h… Even so, I can see that it has re… A scarlet fruit,

Happiness, to some, elation; Is, to others, mere stagnation. Days of passive somnolence, At its wildest, indolence. Hours of empty quietness,

The snow whispers around me And my wooden clogs Leave holes behind me in the snow. But no one will pass this way Seeking my footsteps,

All night I wrestled with a memor… Which knocked insurgent at the gat… The crumbled wreck of years behind… Its disillusion; now I only cry For peace, for power to forget the…

On winter nights beside the nurser… We read the fairy tale, while glow… Builded its pictures. There befor… We saw the vaulted hall of traceri… Uprear itself, the distant ceiling…

Little cramped words scrawling all… Like draggled fly’s legs, What can you tell of the flaring m… Through the oak leaves? Or of my uncertain window and theb…

Sea Shell, Sea Shell, Sing me a song, O Please! A song of ships, and sailor men, And parrots, and tropical trees, Of islands lost in the Spanish Ma…

Slowly, without force, the rain dr… on the carved head of Saint John,… over his stone cloak. It splashes… and falls from it in turmoil on th… Where are the people, and why does…

The tall yellow hollyhocks stand, Still and straight, With their round blossoms spread o… In the quiet sunshine. And still is the old Roman wall,

Who shall declare the joy of the r… Who shall tell of the pleasures of… Springing and spurning the tufts o… Sweeping, wide-winged, through the… Everything mortal has moments immo…

The Fool Errant sat by the highwa… And his gaze wandered up and his g… A vigorous youth, but with no wish… Yet his longing was great for the… He whistled a little frivolous tun…

As I sit here in the quiet Summer… Suddenly, from the distant road, t… The grind and rush of an electric… And, from still farther off, An engine puffs sharply,

How is it that, being gone, you fi… And all the long nights are made g… No loneliness is this, nor misery, But great content that these shoul… Whereby the Fancy, dreaming as sh…