GREY countries and grim empires… And all the pomp and glory of citi… Goes down to dust, as Youth itsel… But O the splendour of this autum… This passes not away! This dew-dr…

LAST night, in snowy gown and gl… I saw you watch the play Where each mock hero won his love The old unlifelike way. (And O were life their little sce…

WHERE the dim paths wind and cre… Down past dark and ghostly lands Lost this many a year in sleep, Still an ivied sun-dial stands. Still about the moss-greened urns

FROM hill to hill he harried me; He stalked me day and night; He neither knew nor hated me; Nor his nor mine the fight. He killed the man who stood by me,

Phaon (bitterly) Thus women change–and in their tim… Sappho THERE lies the sorrow–if we coul… For one brief hour you gave me all…

WIDE is the world and wide its o… Yet I who fare from pole to pole… A prisoned Hope that paces ill at… A captive Fear that fumbles with… I once for Freedom madly did aspi…

KNOCK, and the Door shall open:… And found the unpiteous portals lo… Waiting, we learned us croons to w… Those dreary watches–and ye call i… Seek, and thine eyes shall find: o…

WHEN my life has enough of love,… When the ocean no longer beckons m… Oh, on the anvil of Thy wrath, re… When the lash of the wave bewilder… When I hate the gloom of Thy stee…

HE sat behind his roses and did w… With wanton hands those passions g… That naught but bitter tears and b… And naught but years can dim. So o’er their wine did Great Ones…

“From its frail stem tear not the… “Nor brush from wings so fragile a… Lest in your unrewarded hand you h… Only, alas, torn plumes and petals… Ah, plead no more”—you bowed your…