Never again the sight of her? Never her winsome smile Shall light the path of my journey… O’er many a weary mile? Never again shall her soft voice c…

Now with the dust that bore him he… Silent, into into earth’s silent m… Dimmed is his light, as with the s… He folds his steps unto the God w… When shall the weak stand and rejo…

O why are there eyes like these, That sparkle and dapple and tease, So wide with the morning, so deep… Dancing and gleaming in passioned… O why are there eyes like these?

Sister, when at the grassy mound… Which holds in cold embrace thy mo… The tears unbidden rush into my mo… And wash away from me all save the… Of thy pure life and patient suffe…

Ashamed of my race? And of what race an I? I am many in one. Thru my veins runs the blood Of Red Man, Black Man, Briton,…

A thousand years of darkness in he… She turns at last from out the cen… Of labored moan and dull oppressio… To slowly mount the rugged path an… Her measured step unto her ancient…

O, Little David, play on your har… That ivory harp with the golden st… And sing as you did in Jewry Land… Of the Prince of Peace and the G… And the coming Christ Immanuel.

Old November, sere and brown, Clothes the country, haunts the to… Sheds its cloak of withered leaves… Brings its sighing, soughing breez… Prophet of the dying year,

Love is the soothing voice of gods To which men ever list. Love is the ease of soul’s travail And sorrow’s alchemist.

The slender moon in its silvery sh… The golden stars with the blue bet… Of a dreamy, summer sky; And still the night winds sigh. With the silvery moon to whisper t…

Sunless days and starless nights Bearing fruits of wrack and pain, Purge my lips of lover’s vows, Bid me never hope again. Yet the longing of my soul,

I know not why or whence he came Or how he chanced to go; I only know he brought me love, And going, left me woe. I do not ask that he turn back

On such a day as this I think, On such a day as this, When earth and sky and nature’s wh… Are clad in April’s bliss; And balmy zephyrs gently waft

The little child crosses the stree… Why does she wave to me? What sees she in my wasted form To hail so joyously? Her olive face and curly hair

Forget? Ah, never! Your eyes, your voice, your lips. Those little ways of love, Half-childish yet all-wise