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…

What instinct forces man to journe… Urged by a longing blind but domin… Nothing he sees can hold him, noth… His never failing eagerness. The… Setting in splendour every night h…

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…

I learnt to write to you in happie… And every letter was a piece I ch… From off my heart, a fragment newl… From the mosaic of life; its blues… Its throbbing reds, I gave to ear…

The path runs straight between the… A moonlit path, hemmed in by beds… Where phlox and marigolds dispute… With tall, red dahlias and the bri… 'T is reckless prodigality which t…

There was a man Who made his living By painting roses Upon silk. He sat in an upper chamber

Oblong, its jutted ends rounding i… The old sunken basin lies with its… An inch below the terrace tiles. Over the stagnant water Slide reflections:

A music-stand of crimson lacquer,… In some fast clipper-ship from Ch… With bossed and carven flowers and… The slender shaft all twined about… With vine leaves and young twisted…

What charm is yours, you faded old… Of outworn, childish mysteries, Vague pageants woven on a web of d… And we, pushing and fighting in th… Of modern life, find solace in you…

I do not care to talk to you altho… Your speech evokes a thousand symp… And all my being’s silent harmonie… Wake trembling into music. When y… It is as if some sudden, dreadful…

He died of “Stranger’s Fever” whe… Had scarcely melted into manhood,… The chiselled legend runs; a broth… Laid bare for epitaph. The savage… Of a sunny, bright, but alien land…

Outside the long window, With his head on the stone sill, The dog is lying, Gazing at his Beloved. His eyes are wet and urgent,

The little boy pressed his face against the window-pane and looked out at the bright sunshiny morning. The cobble-stones of the square glistened like mica. In the trees, a breeze danced...

Dance! Dance! The priest is yellow with sunflowe… He is yellow with corn-meal, He is yellow as the sun.

When I have baked white cakes And grated green almonds to spread… When I have picked the green crow… And piled them, cone-pointed, in a… When I have smoothed the seam of…