JOYS have three stages, Hoping,… The hands of Hope are empty, and… For the joy we take, in the taking… Now, which is the better—the joy u…

IN the Spring we see: Then the buds are dear to us—immat… In the Summer we live: When bright eyes are near to us, o… In the Autumn we love:

From that fair land and drear land… Of which through years I do not c… I brought a tale, learned not by w… But formed by finding here one gol… And there another; and with hands…

Chicago, October 9,1871. GAUNT in the midst of the prairi… She who was once so fair; Charred and rent are her garments, Heavy and dark like cerements;

Poets should not reason: Let them sing! Argument is treason— Bells should ring. Statements none, nor questions;

“HE is false to the heart!' she s… He promises fair as a tree in blos… The fruit is rotten ere ripe. Tea… All withered and wasted! and still… Comfort? There is no comfort when…

Life is a certainty, Death is a doubt; Men may be dead While they’re walking about. Love is as needful

THOSE we love truly never die, Though year by year the sad memori… A ring and flowers, types of life… Are laid upon their graves. For death the pure life saves,

A GOD-LIKE face, with human lo… And tender fancy traced in every l… A god-like face, but oh, how human… Dear Keats, who love the gods the…

ONLY a fallen horse, stretched o… Stretched in the broken shafts, an… Only a fallen horse, and a circle… Watching the 'frighted teamster go… Hold! for his toil is over—no more…

“I am poor,” said Chunder Ali, wh… Frowned in supercilious anger at t… “I am friendless and a Hindoo: su… Here in China, where the Hindoo f… I have naught to buy your justice;…

Do you love me?' she said, when th… And we walked where the stream thr… And I told and retold her my love… While she listened and smiled, and… Do you love me?' she whispered, wh…

Oh! no! I would not love again E’en had I still the power given; I would not risk its pain and fear… E’en though its joys were taste of… A breath may blight the heart we p…

HUNGER goes sleeplessly Thinking of food; Evil lies painfully Yearning for good. Life is a confluence:

O Beauteous Southland! Land of y… That hangeth o’ve thee slumbering,… The moveless foliage of thy valley… And wooded hills, like aureole of… Oh thou, discovered ere the fittin…