AY, smile as you will, with your… But I know the line Of your guard is as weak as a maze… You may give no sign— And the devil is never far to seek…

A SOFT-BREASTED bird from th… Fell in love with the light-house… And it wheeled round the tower on… And floated and cried like a lovel… It brooded all day and it fluttere…

A CITY of Palaces! Yes, that’s… Look down this street—what a splen… Just glance at the wealth of a sin… The carving and cornice in gaudy s… And think of the acres of inner fl…

“Come, sing a new song to her here… They cry to her sons who sing; And one sings: ‘ Mavourneen, it m… To think how the sorrows cling, Like the clouds on your mountains,…

Nation of sun and sin, Thy flowers and crimes are red, And thy heart is sore within While the glory crowns thy head. Land of the songless birds,

ONCE I had a little sweetheart In the land of the Malay,— Such a little yellow sweetheart! Warm and peerless as the day Of her own dear sunny island,

LASHED to the planet, glaring a… An eagle at his heart—the Pagan C… Why is it, Mystery? O, dumb Dark… Have always men, with loving heart… Made devils of their gods?

I KNEW it all my boyhood: in a l… Like a dryad’s mirror hidden by th… Its eye flashed back the sunshine,… And I loved its truthful depths w… I scooped my hand and drank it, an…

“WHAT bait do you use," said a S… When you fish where the souls of m… “Well, for special tastes,” said t… “Gold and Fame are the best I’ve… “But for common use?” asked the S…

I’D rather live in Bohemia than i… For only there are the values true… And the laurels gathered in all me… The prizes of traffic and state ar… By shrewdness or force or by deeds…

IN the old Rabbinical stories, So old they might well be true,— The sacred tales of the Talmud, That David and Solomon knew,— There is one of the Father Abram,

IS he well blessed who has no eye… The woeful things that shadow all… The latent brute behind the eyes o… The place and power gained and sta… The weakly victims driven to the w…

DO not praise: a smile is payment… Who shall paint the mote’s glad ra… Nay, nor smile, for blind is eyesi… From the silence, from the twiligh… Songs were born before the singer:…

I am tired of planning and toiling In the crowded hives of men; Heart-weary of building and spoili… And spoiling and building again. And I long for the dear old river…

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