We will lay our summer away, my fr… So tenderly lay it away. It was bright and sweet to the ver… Like one long, golden day. Nothing sweeter could come to me,

A Tribute To The Policemen Of E… Here in my cosy corner, Before a blazing log, I’m thinking of cold London Wrapped in its killing fog;

I saw a mother give wine to her bo… The rain-drops fall and fall: The pride of his parents, a househ… A mother’s blessing, her all. I saw the cheek of the youth grow…

When thy hand touches mine, throug… Of intricate and interlacèd veins Shoot swift delights that border o… Flesh thrills to thrilling flesh. When in thine eager eyes I look t…

There’s many a house of grandeur, With turret, tower and dome, That knows not peace or comfort, And does not prove a home. I do not ask for splendor

At Box Hill, Surrey A modern hour from London (as we… Into a silver thread the miles of… Between us and our goal), there is… Apart from city traffic, dust, and…

So vast the tide of Love within m… It overflows like some stupendous… The confines of the Present and T… And 'gainst the Past’s high wall… As it would cry “Thou too shalt y…

I know as my life grows older, And mine eyes have clearer sight, That under each rank of wrong, som… There lies the root of right; That each sorrow has its purpose,

Lightly they hold him and lightly… Soft as a pillow are somebody’s ar… Down he goes slowly, ever so lowly Over the rim of the cradle they la… Baby’s first journey is free from…

If Christ came questioning His wo… (If Christ came questioning,) ‘What hast thou done to glorify th… Since last My feet this lower ear… How could I answer Him; and in wh…

Oh, you who read some song that I… What know you of the soul from whe… Dost dream the poet ever speaks al… His secret thought unto the listen… Go take the murmuring sea-shell fr…

Little by little the year grows ol… The red leaves drop from the maple… The sun grows dim, and the winds b… Down from the distant arctic seas. Out of the skies the soft light di…

So much one thought about the life… He did not drain the waters of his… And when death laid his children ’… He called it—‘the mysterious will… He would not strive for worldly ga…

If I could clasp my little babe Upon my breast to-night, I would not mind the blowing wind That shrieketh in affright. Oh, my lost babe! my little babe,

Let the old snow be covered with t… The trampled snow, so soiled, and… Let it be hidden wholly from our v… By pure white flakes, all trackles… When Winter dies, low at the swee…