Lie down upon the ground, thou hop… Press thy face in the grass, and d… Dost feel the green globe whirl?… Climbeth she out of darkness to th… Which is her God; seven times she…

Willie speaks. Is it wrong, the wish to be great, For I do wish it so? I have asked already my sister Ka… She says she does not know.

O do not leave me, mother, lest I… Till I forget, be near me in that… The mother’s presence leads her do… Leaves her contented there. O do not leave me, lover, brother,…

Out of the gulf into the glory, Father, my soul cries out to be li… Dark is the woof of my dismal stor… Thorough thy sun—warp stormily dri… Out of the gulf into the glory,

Still am I haunting Thy door with my prayers; Still they are panting Up thy steep stairs! Wouldst thou not rather

Brother artist, help me; come! Artists are a maimed band: I have words but not a hand; Thou hast hands though thou art du… Had I thine, when words did fail–

Some men there are who cannot spar… A single tear until they feel The last cold pressure, and the he… Is stamped upon the outmost layer. And, waking, some will sigh to thi…

Upon a rock I sat-a mountain-side… Far, far forsaken of the old sea’s… A rock where ancient waters’ rise… Recoil and plunge, eddy, and oscil… Had worn and worn, while races liv…

Dead, why defend thee, who in life For thy worst foe hadst died; Who, thy own name a word of strife… Didst silent stand aside? Grand in forgiveness, what to thee

Along the tops of all the yellow t… The golden-yellow trees, the sunsh… And where the leaves are gone, lon… Lone depths of thicket with their… And through the woods, all waste o…

Such guests as you, sir, were not… When I my homely dish with care d… ’Twas certain humble souls I woul… Who do not turn from wholesome mil… You came, slow-trotting on the nar…

‘Death, whaur do ye bide, auld De… ‘I bide in ilka breath,’ Quo’ Death; ‘No i’ the pyramids, No whaur the wormie rids

Is there a secret Joy, that may n… For every flower that ends its lit… For every child that groweth up to… For every captive bird a cage doth… For every aching eye that went to…

THOU art of this world, Christ.… Thou know’st our evens, our morns,… How moons, and hearts, and seasons… How we grow weary plodding on the… Of future joy how present pain ber…

Shepherd, on before thy sheep, Hear thy lamb that bleats behind! Scarce the track I stumbling keep… Through my thin fleece blows the w… Turn and see me, Son of Man!