There may be seeming calm above, b… There is a pulse below which cease… A subterranean working, fiery hot, Deep in the million-hearted bosom,… Earthquakes unlock not the prodigi…

If I were a monk, and thou wert a… Pacing it wearily, wearily, Twixt chapel and cell till day wer… Wearily, wearily– How would it fare with these heart…

O Father, I am in the dark, My soul is heavy-bowed: I send my prayer up like a lark, Up through my vapoury shroud, To find thee,

A tattered soldier, gone the glow… With wounds half healed, and sorel… Homeward I come, to claim no vict… I only faced the foe, and did not…

They are blind, and they are dead: We will wake them as we go; There are words have not been said… There are sounds they do not know: We will pipe and we will sing–

The sky has turned its heart away, The earth its sorrow found; The daisies turn from childhood’s… And creep into the ground. The earth is black and cold and ha…

O Thou that walkest with nigh hop… Past the one harbour, built for th… Doth no stray odour from its table… No truant beam from fire or candle… At his wide door the host doth sta…

LORD, I do choose the higher tha… I would be handled by thy nursing… After thy will, not my infant alar… Hurt me thou wilt-but then more lo… If more can be and less, in love’s…

Go not forth to call Dame Sorrow From the dim fields of Tomorrow; Let her roam there all unheeded, She will come when she is needed; Then, when she draws near thy door…

Now in the dark of February rains… Poor lovers of the sunshine, sprin… The earthy fields are full of hidd… And March’s violets bud along the… Therefore with joy believe in what…

When I look back upon my life nig… Nigh spent, although the stream as… I more of follies than of sins rep… Less for offence than Love’s shor… With self, O Father, leave me not…

‘Hear’st thou that sound upon the… Said the youth softly, as outstret… Where for an hour outstretched he… Softly, yet with some token of dis… Answered the maiden: ‘It is but t…

Be welcome, year! with corn and si… Make poor the body, but make rich… What man that bears his sheaves, g… Will heed the paint rubbed from hi… Nor leave behind thy fears and hol…

Sighing above, Rustling below, Thorough the woods The winds go. Beneath, dead crowds;