Oft in the night I am with you, D… I lean and listen your breathing t… Little you dream of any one near. No one knoweth that I am gone; Curtains closely about me drawn,

You perfect, pure, original, Writ in a tongue unknown to all; Translated, in some other sphere, You may be read; but will not here…

The flower you placed within my bu… Has faded; but there lives within… Another rose, unfolding hour by ho… Your beauty’s self in its immortal… So living-warm this dainty blossom…

FATHER in Heaven, we seek Thy… When darkness is our dwelling-plac… Our foolish hearts, that daily roa… Would nightly nestle with Thee at… Be with us Here, and grant that w…

We thank Thee, Lord, for one day To look Heaven in the face! The Poor have only Sunday; The sweeter is the grace. 'Tis then they make the music

Egypt! how I have dwelt with you… So long, so intimately, that it se… As if you had borne me; though I… It was so many thousand years ago! And in my gropings darkly undergro…

WE read your Letters! no word los… All, all is rememberèd; And often when there comes no Pos… Once more are the old ones read. Of all she did we love to hear,

A FEW more Meetings on the Deep… And partings on the shore; And then in Heaven at last we kee… Our tryst for evermore. A little further we must bear

The tender green that laughs out i… And drinks the freshness of the de… Must take the cloud of dust that t… And burnish every tiny blade again… The river into which heaven cometh…

‘TIS hard to die in Spring-time, When, to mock our bitter need, All life around runs over In its fullness without heed: New life for tiniest twig on tree,

GATHER round the Table, When the day is done; Lay the Electric Cable That weds two Worlds in one. We have found the passage

WHEN the merry spring-tide Floods all the land; Nature hath a Mother’s heart, Gives with open hand; Flowers running up the lane

I sometimes think that Shakespear… To me that very self so long conce… But if his soul my soul has lighte… I sometimes think it was to gaze o… To find, with loving wonder in his…

TRUE Poets conquer Glory—do not… It; do not beg their way to Fame; Nor at her skirts in private bend… Nor sow the public broadcast with… They are the great High Priests o…