A MIRACLE—that man should lear… These little vessels with his boun… Should through these arbitrary sig… The world, and scatter broadcast a… His unseen thought, in endless tra…

BEFORE the daybreak, in the mur… My chanticleer, half dreaming, see… Stream from my window on his perch… And taking it for dawn he needs mu… Wakeful and sad I shut my book, a…

OUT of the cloud that dimmed his… Into the unknown firmament withdra… Beyond the mists and shadows of th… We mourn the friend and teacher wh… As in the days of old when Plato…

ON a time—not of old— When a poet had sent out his soul… Where the heart of the nation in p… In fold upon fold— He called back his soul who had pi…

One day in the bluest of summer we… Sketching under a whispering oak, I heard five bobolinks laughing to… Over some ornithological joke. What the fun was I couldn’t disco…

(A True Story) SHE stood beside the iron road, A little child of ten years old. She heard two meeting thunders rol… From north and south, that plainly…

YET in all facts of sense life st… And from a thousand symbols hope m… Its charter to escape the Stygian… And find existence in an ampler fi… The streams by winter’s icy breath…

Thought is deeper than all speech, Feeling deeper than all thought: Souls to souls never can teach What unto themselves was taught. We are spirits clad in veils;

IF at one door stands life to che… And at another, death, to mock bec… We thought life’s promise good; if… And is and should be ends in fume… Then let us live for joy alone—the…

WITH streaming pennons, scorning… With steady tramp and swift revolv… And even pulse from throbbing hear… She plies her arrowy course from s… In vain the siren calms her steps…

I went to bed with Shakespeare’s… Within me chiming, As I sank slowly to my pleasant s… My thoughts with his were rhyming. Out of the window I saw the moonl…

ALL loves have frailer roots than… From one ancestral blood. The fri… In youth pass on before us, or beh… Are dropped, or on diverging paths… While branches from one trunk stil…

FAR Off among the fields and mea… The August noon bends o’er a worl… In the blue sky the white clouds p… To paint broad shadows on the wood… And upland farms. A brooding sile…

THOSE times are gone, that circl… And we who live, now scattered far… Each in our separate centres fixed… Round which new interests now revo… In separate loves and duties day b…

COLD philosophers, so apt With your formulas exacting, In your problems so enwrapt, And your theories distracting; Webs of metaphysic doubt