Up from the South come the birds… Frightened away by the presence of… Back to the vale comes the verdure… Back to the forest the leaves that… Over the hillside the carpet of sp…

To J. J. H., Of Kentucky Gathering brands from the burning, Plucking them out of the fire, Lifting the sheep that have wander… Out of the dust and the mire,

It seemeth such a little way to me Across to that strange country—the… And yet, not strange, for it has g… The home of those of whom I am so… They make it seem familiar and mos…

Every morning, as I walk down From my dreary lodgings, toward th… I see at a window, near the street… The face of a woman, fair and swee… With soft brown eyes and chestnut…

I strolled last eve across the lon… One solitary picture struck my eye… A distant ploughboy stood against… How far he seemed above the noisy… Upon the bosom of a cloud the sod

If the sad old world should jump a… Sometime, in its dizzy spinning, And go off the track with a sudden… What an end would come to the sinn… What a rest from strife and the bu…

If any line that I ever penned, Or any word I have spoken, Has comforted heart of foe or frie… In any way, why my life, I’ll say… Has reaped the reward of labour,

There are ghosts in the room. As I sit here alone, from the dar… They come out of the gloom, And they stand at my side and they… There’s the ghost of a Hope

We love but once. The great gold… From dawn to eventide doth cast hi… But the full splendour of his perf… Is reached but once throughout the… We love but once. The waves, wit…

Sometimes she seems so helpless an… So full of sweet unreason and so w… So prone to some capricious whim o… Now gay, now tearful, and now ange… By her strange moods of waywardnes…

Somewhere I’ve read a thoughtful… 'All perfect things are three-fold… Our love has the rare symbol of pe… The brain’s response, the warm blo… The soul’s sweet language, silent…

Pausing a moment ere the day was d… While yet the earth was scintillan… I backward glanced. From valley,… At intervals, where my life-path h… Rose cross on cross; and nailed up…

I am tired to-night, and something… The wind maybe, or the rain, Or the cry of a bird in the copse… Has brought back the past and its… And I feel as I sit here thinking…

Dost thou not tire, Isaura, of th… ‘What play?’ Why, this old play o… Nay, now, lift not thine eyes in t… ’Tis all in vain—I know thee and… Let us be frank, Isaura. I have m…

Be not dismayed, be not dismayed w… Sets its white seal upon some wors… Poor human nature for a little spa… Must suffer anguish, when that las… Leaves such long silence; but let…