If I knew what poets know, Would I write a rhyme Of the buds that never blow In the summer-time? Would I sing of golden seeds

The rhyme o’ The Raggedy Man’s '… Is Tickle me, Love, in these Lon… 'Cause that-un’s the strangest of… An’ the worst to learn, an’ the la… An’ the funniest one, an’ the fool…

They ain’t no style about 'em, And they’re sorto’ pale and faded, Yit the doorway here, without ‘em, Would be lonesomer, and shaded With a good ’eal blacker shudder

Let us rest ourselves a bit! Worry?—wave your hand to it— Kiss your finger-tips and smile It farewell a little while. Weary of the weary way

Just drifting on together— He and I— As through the balmy weather Of July Drift two thistle-tufts imbedded

Because her eyes were far too deep And holy for a laugh to leap Across the brink where sorrow trie… To drown within the amber tide; Because the looks, whose ripples k…

Of all the doctors I could cite y… Doc Sifers is my favorite, jes’ t… Count in the Bethel Neighberhood,… And Sifers’ standin’s jes’ as goo… There’s old Doc Wick, and Glenn,…

Sometimes I keep From going to sleep, To hear the katydids ‘cheep-cheep!… And think they say Their prayers that way;

Get gone, thou most uncomfortable… Thou really dost annoy me with thy… Impalpable transparency of grin; And the vague, shadowy shape of th… Hath vext me beyond boundary and c…

Where do you go when you go to sle… Little Boy! Little Boy! where? ‘Way—’way in where’s Little Bo-P… And Little Boy Blue, and the Cow… A-wandering ‘way in there;—in ther…

There’s a space for good to bloom… Every heart of man or woman,— And however wild or human, Or however brimmed with gall, Never heart may beat without it;

They called him Mr. What’s-his-na… From where he was, or why he came, Or when, or what he found to do, Nobody in the city knew. He lived, it seemed, shut up alone

A good man never dies— In worthy deed and prayer And helpful hands, and honest eyes… If smiles or tears be there: Who lives for you and me—

Mellow hazes, lowly trailing Over wood and meadow, veiling Somber skies, with wildfowl sailin… Sailor-like to foreign lands; And the north-wind overleaping