Oh what is that country And where can it be, Not mine own country, But dearer far to me? Yet mine own country,

Somewhere or other there must sure… The face not seen, the voice not h… The heart that not yet—never yet—a… Made answer to my word. Somewhere or other, may be near or…

A pocket handkerchief to hem — Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! How many stitches it will take Before it’s done, I fear. Yet set a stitch and then a stitch…

Currants on a bush, And figs upon a stem, And cherries on a bending bough, And Ned to gather them.

I said of laughter: it is vain. Of mirth I said: what profits it? Therefore I found a book, and wri… Therein how ease and also pain, How health and sickness, every one

I would have gone; God bade me st… I would have worked; God bade me… He broke my will from day to day, He read my yearnings unexpressed And said them nay.

As eager homebound traveller to th… Or steadfast seeker on an unsearch… Or martyr panting for an aureole, My fellow—pilgrims pass me, and at… That hidden mansion of perpetual p…

O Christ, the Vine with living F… The twelvefold—fruited Tree of Li… The Balm in Gilead after strife, The valley Lily and the Rose; Stronger than Lebanon, Thou Root…

Oh roses for the flush of youth, And laurel for the perfect prime; But pluck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time. Oh violets for the grave of youth,

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,

A linnet in a gilded cage,— A linnet on a bough,— In frosty winter one might doubt Which bird is luckier now. But let the trees burst out in lea…

“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

A cold wind stirs the blackthorn To burgeon and to blow, Besprinkling half—green hedges With flakes and sprays of snow. Through coldness and through keenn…