Your soul was lifted by the wings… Hearing the master of the violin: You praised him, praised the great… Who made that fine Chaconne; but… Of old Antonio Stradivari? –him

Spring comes hither Buds the rose . . . Roses wither Sweet spring goes . . . O ja là

Should I long that dark were fair… Lacks my love aught that I should… Dark the night with breath all flo… And tender broken voice that fills With ravishment the list’ning hour…

Oh, may I join the choir invisibl… Of those immortal dead who live ag… In minds made better by their pres… In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in s…

“La noche buena se viene, La noche buena se va, Y nosotros nos iremos Y no volveremos mas.” —Old Villancico.

Day is dying! Float, o song, Down the westward river, Requiem chanting to the Day, Day, the mighty giver! Pierced by shafts of Time he blee…

‘Mid my gold-brown curls There twined a silver hair: I plucked it idly out And scarcely knew ’twas there. Coiled in my velvet sleeve it lay

If you sit down at set of sun And count the acts that you have d… And, counting, find One self-denying deed, one word That eased the heart of him who he…

Maiden crowned with glossy blackne… Lithe as panther forest-roaming, Long-armed Naiad when she dances On a stream of ether floating, Bright, o bright Fedalma!

O bird, that used to press, Thy head against my cheek With touch that seem’d to speak, And ask a tender 'yes’ – Ay de mí, my bird:

Warm whisp’ring through the slende… Came to me a gentle sound, Whis’pring of a secret found In the clear sunshine ‘mid the gol… Said it was sleeping for me in the…

“I grant you ample leave To use the hoary formula 'I am’ Naming the emptiness where thought… But fill the void with definition,… Will be no more a datum than the w…

I cannot choose but think upon the… When our two lives grew like two b… At lightest thrill from the bee’s… Because the one so near the other… He was the elder and a little man