NIGHT, they say, is no man’s fri… And at night he met his end In the woods of Trebizend. Hate crouched near him as he strod… Through the blackness of the road,

The wind that breathes of columbin… And celandines that crowd the rock… That shakes the balsam of the pine… With laughter from his airy locks, Stops at my city door and knocks.

Were I an artist, Lydia, I Would paint you as you merit, Not as my eyes, but dreams, descry… Not in the flesh, but spirit. The canvas I would paint you on

I do not love you now, O narrow heart, that had no height… You, whom mine fed; to whom yours… Food when mine hungered, and of wh… I do not love you now.

The wild oxalis Among the valleys Lifts up its chalice Of pink and pearl; And, balsam-breathing,

There are haunters of the silence,… I have sat with them and hearkened… I have shuddered from their coming… And have cursed them and have bles… At my door I see their shadows; i…

I Have not seen her face, and yet She is more sweet than any thing Of Earth than rose or violet That Mayday winds and sunbeams br… Of all we know, past or to come,

The pink rose drops its petals on The moonlit lawn, the moonlit lawn… The moon, like some wide rose of w… Drops down the summer night. No rose there is

All night I lay upon the rocks: And now the dawn comes up this way… One great star trembling in her lo… Of rosy ray. I can not tell the things I’ve se…

Devil’s Race-Horse seems to me Strangest thing I ever saw: Up in our old maple-tree They’re at home; stand rearingly, Lean of neck and long of claw.

IN her vast church of glimmering… Gray-stoled from feet to chin, Her dark locks beaded with the dew… The nun-like dawn comes in: At once the hills put on their spe…

With a look and a laugh where the… September led me along the land; Where the golden-rod and lobelia,… Seemed burning torches within her… And faint as the thistle’s or milk…

From 'Beltenebros at Miraflores’ O sunset, from the springs of star… Draw down thy cataracts of gold; And belt their streams with burnin… Of ruby on which flame is rolled:

Those hewers of the clouds, the W… At the four compass-points,-are ou… I hear their sandals trample on th… I hear their voices trumpet throug… Builders of storm, God’s workmen,…

She took her babe, the child of sh… And wrapped it warmly in her shawl… From house to house for work. Pro… A look of wonder on her; raised a… Of Christian outrage. None would…