Give us that grand word woman once… And let’s have done with lady: one… Full of fine force, strong, beauti… Fit for the noblest use of tongue… And one’s a word for lackeys. One…

Time flies. The swift hours hurr… And speed us on to untried ways; New seasons ripen, perish, die, And yet love stays. The old, old love– like sweet at f…

‘Little kids,’ you call us As we are at play. You were little children Just the other day. Now to-morrow nears us,

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

Over and over the task was set, Over and over I slighted the work… But ever and alway I knew that ye… I must face and finish the toil I… Over and over the whip of pain

We must not force events, but rath… The heart soil ready for their com… The earth spreads carpets for the… Or, with the strengthening tonic o… Prepares for Winter. Should a Ju…

I and new love, in all its living… Sat vis-à-vis, while tender twilig… Went softly by us, treading as on… Then suddenly I saw within the ro… The old love, long since lying in…

Strange are the ways that her feet… Since first she was set in the pat… Finished and fair by the hand of… To carry her message of love and b… Delicate creature of light and sha…

In a garb that was guiltless of co… She stood, with a dull, listless a… A creature of dumps and of dolours… But most undeniably fair. The folds of her garment fell roun…

You may thrill with the speed of y… You may laugh with delight as you… You may rush afar in your touring… Leaping, sweeping, by things that… But you never will know the joy of…

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,

Sometimes I feel so passionate a… For spiritual perfection here belo… This vigorous frame, with healthfu… Seems my determined foe, So actively it makes a stern resis…

Only a blunder-a sad mistake; All my own fault and mine alone. The saddest error a heart can make… I was so young, or I would have k… Only his rare, sweet, tender smile…

Is it the world, or my eyes, that… I see not the grace that I used t… In the meadow-brook whose song was… In the boughs of the willow tree. The brook runs slower—its song see…