Hunters, where does Hope nest? Not in the half-oped breast, Nor the young rose, Nor April sunrise—those With a quick wing she brushes,

Somewhere I read, in an old book… Is gone from me, I read that when… Of a man are counted, and his busi… There comes up the shore at evenin… To the place where he sits, a boat…

Though life should come With all its marshalled honours, t… To proffer you the captaincy of so… Resounding exploit, that shall fil… Man’s pulses with commemorative th…

AH, from the niggard tree of Time How quickly fall the hours! It needs no touch of wind or rime To loose such facile flowers. Drift of the dead year’s harvestin…

SOMEWHERE, O sun, some corner… Thou visitest, where down the stra… Quietly, still, the waves go out t… From the green fringes of a pastor… Deep in the orchard-bloom the roof…

On immemorial altitudes august Grief holds her high dominion. Bo… That climb unblenching to that ste… Whence, looking down, man knows hi… There lie the mightiest passions,…

La Belgique ne regrette rien Not with her ruined silver spires, Not with her cities shamed and ren… Perish the imperishable fires That shape the homestead from the…

WE women want too many things; And first we call for happiness, - The careless boon the hour brings, The smile, the song, and the cares… And when the fancy fades, we cry,

Immense, august, like some Titani… The mighty choir unfolds its lithi… Petalled with panes of azure, gule… Splendidly lambent in the Gothic… And stamened with keen flamelets t…

GREAT cities rise and have their… That held their glories moulders i… Hard granite rots like an uprooted… And ever on the palimpsest of eart… Impatient Time rubs out the word…

SET wide the window. Let me drin… I loved light ever, light in eye a… No tapers mirrored in long palace… Nor dedicated depths of silent ais… But just the common dusty wind-blo…

UPWARD we went by fields of asp… Leaving Ortygia’s moat-bound wall… By orchards, where the wind-flower… Lay lightly heaped upon the turf’s… By gardens, whence upon the waysid…

HERE in the jealous hollow of th… Faint, light-eluding, as templed i… Of some rose-vaulted lotus, see th… The artist had - the vision that u… Its flying sequence till completio…

WHAT strange presentiment, O Mo… On thy waste brow and sadly-folded… Forefeeling the Light’s terrible… On Calvary, as if love made thee… And thou couldst read in those dea…

AT that lost hour disowned of day… The after-birth of midnight, when… Turns to the wall and the last lam… Before the incipient irony of dawn… In that obliterate interval of tim…