I saw Winter 'neath a spindle tre… She plucked berries bright to crow… She was singing little robin’s son… While wild beech-leaves round and… I ran home into my little house,

O to be a woman! to be left to piq… When the winds are out and calling… Whisht! it whistles at the windows… There! the last leaves of the beec… All the boats at anchor they are p…

Why in my neighbour’s garden Are the flowers more sweet than mi… I had never such bloom of roses, Such yellow and pink woodbine. Why in my neighbour’s garden

Dark is the tomb, yet holdeth but… In all its chill and silent majest… Lest I should lie divorced from a… An exile yet—and ever still to be. I never trod upon a foreign shore

The Dean of Santiago on his mule Rode quick the Guadalquivir banks… He had no eye the veiling eve to l… No ear to listen for the bird’s la… Gold mist and purple of the settin…

I closed my hands upon a moth And when I drew my palms apart, Instead of dusty, broken wings, I found a bleeding human heart. I crushed my foot upon a worm

I had loved the pretty birds that… The gentle thrush that had his nes… The chaffinch with his sudden note… The sad rhyme of the robin, too, t… The happy lark whose benison fell…

Thou hast encompassed us, indeed,… With these sad years. Where does… Of this Thy man, made to Thy like… Within the golden mirror of the su… Thou gavest Thy sweet loveliness…

Build no roof-tree over thee, Raise nor wall nor rafter, Like the swallows in the eaves, Care will follow after. Lend thy ear unto no voice

When summer comes, then you are ne… I feel your phantom presence on my… In every wind the dead year speaks… And every scene springs up to take… ’Twas such a day, as sweet a wind…

I saw an Eastern God to-day; My comrades laughed; lest I betra… My secret thoughts, I mocked him… His many hands (he had no few, This God of gifts and charity),

How can I laugh or dance as other… Or ply my rock or reel? My heart will still return to drea… Beside my spinning-wheel. My little dog he cried out in the…

Why, Love! I thought you were gay… Merry of mien and debonair. What then means this brow so black… Whose sullen gloom twin eyes give… Poor little god in tears, alack!

Before her mirror in a pouting moo… Afraid to weep lest anger should r… The picture there, she did impatie… Why Fate should treat her worse t… Her lilac frock her mother’s hand…

Oh! do not rudely wake her, nor re… Those pulsing limbs for this hosti… To timid life, that cast in death-… What he had moulded for his ecstas… Nay! rather pity one so keen to le…