Life is not sweet. One day it wil… To shut our eyes and die: Nor feel the wild flowers blow, no… With flitting butterfly, Nor grass grow long above our head…

Where innocent bright—eyed daisies… With blades of grass between, Each daisy stands up like a star Out of a sky of green.

As violets so be I recluse and sw… Cheerful as daisies unaccounted ra… Still sunward—gazing from a lowly… Still sweetening wintry air. While half—awakened Spring lags i…

Underneath the growing grass, Underneath the living flowers, Deeper than the sound of showers: There we shall not count the hours By the shadows as they pass.

There is but one May in the year, And sometimes May is wet and cold… There is but one May in the year Before the year grows old. Yet though it be the chilliest Ma…

“Oh where are you going with your… On the west wind blowing along thi… “The downhill path is easy, come w… We shall escape the uphill by neve… So they two went together in glowi…

She sat and sang alway By the green margin of a stream, Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam. I sat and wept alway

Some are laughing, some are weepin… She is sleeping, only sleeping. Round her rest wild flowers are cr… There the wind is heaping, heaping Sweetest sweets of Summer’s keepi…

The dog lies in his kennel, And Puss purrs on the rug, And baby perches on my knee For me to love and hug. Pat the dog and stroke the cat,

By day she woos me, soft, exceedin… But all night as the moon so chang… Loathsome and foul with hideous le… And subtle serpents gliding in her… By day she woos me to the outer ai…

She holds a lily in her hand, Where long ranks of Angels stand, A silver lily for her wand. All her hair falls sweeping down; Her hair that is a golden brown,

Live all thy sweet life through, Sweet Rose, dew—sprent, Drop down thine evening dew To gather it anew When day is bright:

“Too late for love, too late for j… Too late, too late! You loitered on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch

Ten years ago it seemed impossible That she should ever grow so calm… With self—remembrance in her warme… And dim dried eyes like an exhaust… Slow—speaking when she had some fa…