IF one might live ten years among… Ten–only ten–of all a life’s long… Who would not choose a childhood '… Low-sloping to some slender footpa… With the young grass about his chi…

The Great soft downy snow storm l… Descends to wrap the lean world he… It gives the dead another winding… It buries all the roofs until the… Seems like a soul that from its cl…

O Master-Builder, blustering as y… About your giant work, transformin… The empty woods into a glittering… And making lilac lanes and footpat… As hard as iron under stubborn sno…

WHEN I see, High on the tip-top twig of a tree… Something blue by the breezes stir… But so far up that the blue is blu… So far up no green leaf flies

THE wind of death, that softly bl… The last warm petal from the rose, The last dry leaf from off the tre… To-night has come to breathe on me… There was a time I learned to hat…

WITH slender arms outstretching… The grass lies dead; The wind walks tenderly and stirs… Frail fallen head. Of baby creepings through the Apr…

How dear to hearts by hurtful nois… In the stillness of the many-leavÃ… The quiet of green hills, the mill… Tranquillity of night, the endless… Of silence in deep wilds, where na…

OPE your doors and take me in, Spirit of the wood; Wash me clean of dust and din, Clothe me in your mood. Take me from the noisy light

MY orders are to fight; Then if I bleed, or fail, Or strongly win, what matters it? God only doth prevail. The servant craveth naught

HOW dear to hearts by hurtful noi… In the stillness of the many-leavè… The quiet of green hills, the mill… Tranquility of night, the endless… Of silence in deep wilds, where na…

I SAW a mother holding Her play-worn baby son, Her pliant arms enfolding The drooping little one. Her lips were made of sweetness,

Here where tumultuous vines Shadow the porch at the west, Leaf with tendril entwines Under a song sparrow’s nest. She in her pendulous nook

WHEN I shall go to sleep and wak… At dawning in another world than t… What will atone to me for all I m… The light melodious footsteps of t… The press of leaves against my win…

HEARING the strange night-pierc… Of woe that strove to sing, I followed where it hid, and found A small soft-throated thing, A feathered handful of gray grief,