The rutted roads are all like iron… Are keen and brilliant; only the o… In the bare woods, or the hardy bi… ; Drivers have put their sheepskin j…

Hack ad Hew were the sons of God In the earlier earth than now: One at his right hand, one at his… To obey as he taught them how. And Hack was blind, and Hew was d…

(Sappho LXXIV) If death be good, Why do the gods not die? If life be ill, Why do the gods still live?

First all the host of Raphael In liveries of gold, Lifted the chorus on whose rhythm The spinning spheres are rolled,– The Seraphs of the morning calm

ON the world’s far edges Faint and blue, Where the rocky ledges Stand in view, Fades the rosy tender

We are the vagabonds of time, And rove the yellow autumn days, When all the roads are gray with r… And all the valleys blue with haze… We came unlooked for as the wind

OH, well the world is dreaming Under the April moon, Her soul in love with beauty, Her senses all a-swoon! Pure hangs the silver crescent

Where are the ships I used to kno… That came to port on the Fundy ti… Half a century ago, In beauty and stately pride? In they would come past the beacon…

NOW soon, ah, very soon, I know The trumpets of the north will blo… And the great winds will come to b… The pale wild riders of the snow. Darkening the sun with level fligh…

TO the assembled folk At great St. Kavin’s spoke Young Brother Amiel on Christmas… I give you joy, my friends, That as the round year ends,

OVER the wintry threshold Who comes with joy to-day, So frail, yet so enduring, To triumph o’er dismay? Ah, quick her tears are springing,

The old eternal spring once more Comes back the sad eternal way, With tender rosy light before The going-out of day. The great white moon across my doo…

The lover of child Marjory Had one white hour of life brim fu… Now the old nurse, the rocking sea… Hath him to lull. The daughter of child Marjory

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,

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