Ho! ho! Father Death! I have won… Another grand soul I have ruined… I, who am licensed by good Christ… Eat and eat at their souls till by… I spoil them, I soil them, and pa…

Soar not too high, O bird of Hop… Because the skies are fair; The tempest may come on apace And overcome thee there. When far above the mountain tops

I knew it the first of the summer, I knew it the same at the end, That you and your love were plight… But couldn’t you be my friend? Couldn’t we sit in the twilight,

Beside us in our seeking after ple… Through all our restless striving… Through all our search for worldly… There walketh one whom no man like… Silent he follows, veiled of form…

How can I wait until you come to… The once fleet mornings linger by… Their sunny smiles touched with ma… At my unrest, they seem to pause,… Like truant children, while I sig…

When your love begins to wane, Spare me from the cruel pain Of all speech that tells me so - Spare me words, for I shall know, By the half-averted eyes,

They prize not most the opulence o… Who from the year’s beginning to i… Dwell, where unfading verdure tire… And where sweet summer’s harp is k… We must have listened to the winte…

Quite carelessly I turned the new… A song I sang, full many a year a… Smiled up at me, as in a busy stre… One meets an old-time friend he us… So full it was, that simple little…

I shall not forget you. The years… But vain are their efforts to soft… And the strong hands of Time are… To garland the grave that is made… Your image is ever about me, befor…

I am thinking of the Springtime On the farm out in the West, When my world held nothing for me… (Save a courage all undaunted), And my foolish little rhymes,

The queerest languages known to ma… Sanscrit, Hebrew, Hindoostan, Are all translated and made as fre… And comprehensive as A B C. Yet the oldest language talked or…

I love your lips when they’re wet… And red with a wild desire; I love your eyes when the loveligh… Lit with a passionate fire. I love your arms when the warm whi…

The world was widowed by the death… Vainly its suffering soul for peac… And found it not. For nothing, nothing, nothing has… To bring back comfort to the stric…

The Wife The house is like a garden, The children are the flowers, The gardener should come methinks And walk among his bowers,