A Broadway Lyric SHE sits by the side of a turbule… That rushes and rolls forever Up and down like a weary dream In the trance of a burning fever.

WHILE the skies of this norther… Scowl down with a darkening menace… I wonder if you still remember That marvellous summer in Venice. When the mornings by clouds unencu…

YE idle hours of summer, not in v… To one by Nature’s beauty fed, ye… Though sending through the mental… No philosophic lesson to the brain… But only pictures fair of shaded l…

Many a year has fled away Since this old palette was new, As may be seen by the spots of gre… And yellow and red and blue. Many a picture was painted from th…

Daybreak. CHORUS OF PLANETARY SP… YE interstellar spaces, serene an… Above, below, around! Ye gray unmeasured breadths of eth…

WITH what a live intelligence th… Glows and leaps up in spires of fl… And turns the coal just now so dul… To a companion—not like those who… To weary me with iteration tame

AH, happy time! when music bound… Two kindred souls that ne’er were… When in the porch, beneath the sum… Our supper o’er, our school-boy le… While other lads were at some bois…

BACK from old England, in whose… Foremost to knit by act and word t… Between the daughter and the mothe… In all by either prized of truth a… We welcome to a fellowship renewed

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;

IN the old void of unrecorded tim… In long, slow æons of the voiceles… A seed from out the weltering fire… Took root—a struggling plant that… Through rudiments uncouth, through…

(A Hope.) BEFORE our eyes a pageant rolle… Whose banners every land unfurled; And as it passed, its splendors to… The art and glory of the world.

IN my friend’s library I sit alon… Hemmed in by books. The dead and… Shrined in a thousand volumes rich… Tower in long rows, with names to… A dim half-curtained light o’er al…

FORGIVE—that thus the trumpet… You never sounded—never cared to h… The world, I know, can give no sm… To those whose story it has never… But must the poet tune his lyre al…

O good old Year! this night’s you… And must you go? With you I’ve pa… Some days that bear revision. For these I’d thank you, ere you… Your journey to the Stygian lake,

SOME summer mornings—when you’ve… Too late the night before—perhaps… If at some Berkshire farmhouse fa… You chance to wake while yet the s… A glory, to your landscape-painter…