AH, Pierrot, Where is thy Columbine? What vandal could untwine That gay rose-rope of thine, And spill thy joy like wine,

To H. E. C. THERE are sunflowers too in my g… Where now in the early September… The slow autumn sun that goes leis… Of life in the orchards and fir-wo…

NOW is the time of year When all the flutes begin,— The redwing bold and clear, The rainbird far and thin. In all the waking lands

I HEAR a rainbird singing Far off. How fine and clear His plaintive voice comes ringing With rapture to the ear! Over the misty wood-lots,

THOUGHT is a garden wide and ol… For airy creatures to explore, Where grow the great fantastic flo… With truth for honey at the core. There like a wild marauding bee

THE fireflies across the dusk Are flashing signals through the g… Courageous messengers of light That dare immensities of doom. About the seeding meadow-grass,

IN the wondrous star-sown night, In the first sweet warmth of sprin… I lie awake and listen To hear the glad earth sing. I hear the brook in the wood

LORD of the grass and hill, Lord of the rain, White Overlord of will, Master of pain, I who am dust and air

When all the stars are sown Across the night-blue space, With the immense unknown, In silence face to face. We stand in speechless awe

WE are the roadside flowers, Straying from garden grounds,— Lovers of idle hours, Breakers of ordered bounds. If only the earth will feed us,

OH, the shambling sea is a sexton… And well his work is done. With an equal grave for lord and k… He buries them every one. Then hoy and rip, with a rolling h…

We are as mendicants who wait Along the roadside in the sun. Tatters of yesterday and shreds Of morrow clothe us every one. And some are dotards, who believe

Time out of mind I have stood Fronting the frost and the sun, That the dream of the world might… And the goodly will be done. Did the hand of the builder guess,

Hem and Haw were the sons of sin, Created to shally and shirk; Hem lay ‘round and Haw looked on While God did all the work. Hem was a fogy, and Haw was a pri…

OH, but life went gaily, gaily, In the house of Idiedaily! There were always throats to sing Down the river-banks with spring, When the stir of heart’s desire