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,

Not in the ancient abbey, Nor in the city ground, Not in the lonely mountains, Nor in the blue profound, Lay him to rest when his time is c…

‘DUSTMAN, dustman!’ Through the deserted square he cri… And babies put their rosy fists Into their eyes. There’s nothing out of No-man’s-l…

I love the stony pasture That no one else will have. The old gray rocks so friendly see… So durable and brave. In tranquil contemplation

MY heart is a garden of dreams Where you walk when day is done, Fair as the royal flowers, Calm as the lingering sun. Never a drouth comes there,

For The Brthday Of James Whitco… LOCKERBIE STREET is a littl… Just one block long; But the days go there with a magic… The whole year long.

HAVE you sailed Nantucket Sound By lightship, buoy, and bell, And lain becalmed at noon On an oily summer swell? Lazily drooped the sail,

BROWNING, old fellow, Your leaves grow yellow, Beginning to mellow As seasons pass. Your cover is wrinkled,

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,

There is fog upon the river, there… You can hear the groping ferries a… From the Battery to Harlem there’… Through looming granite canyons of… Are you sick of phones and tickers…

ABOVE the weary waiting world, Asleep in chill despair, There breaks a sound of joyous bel… Upon the frosted air. And o’er the humblest rooftree, lo…

Wind of the dead men’s feet, Blow down the empty street Of this old city by the sea With news for me! Blow me beyond the grime

There is something in the autumn t… Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my heart is like a rhyme, With the yellow and the purple and… The scarlet of the maples can shak…

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

Soul, what art thou in the tribes… LORD, said a flying fish, Below the foundations of storm We feel the primal wish Of the earth take form.