It’s out and away at break of day, To frolic and run in the sun-sweet… It’s up and out with a laugh and s… Let the old world know that a boy’… It’s ho for the creek that the min…

The waterfall, deep in the wood, Talked drowsily with solitude, A soft, insistent sound of foam, That filled with sleep the forest’… Where, like some dream of dusk, sh…

Here where the coves indent the sh… And fill with ebb and flowing of t… Whereon some barge rocks or some d… By which old orchards bloom, or, f… Pelt every lane with fruit; where…

Far to the South a star, Bright-shining over all; And a sound of voices singing, ‘Round a Babe in an ox’s-stall. Three Kings a-riding, riding,

When I go forth to greet the glad… Just at the time of opening apple-… When brooks are laughing, winds ar… On babbling hillsides or in warbli… There is an unseen presence that e…

The golden discs of the rattlesnak… That spangle the woods and dance– No gleam of gold that the twilight… Is strong as their necromance: For, under the oaks where the wood…

They’ve torn the old house down, t… Like some kind mother, in this pla… Hugged by its orchard and its wood… Two sturdy children, strong of rac… This formal place makes no appeal.

Within the hollowed hand of God, Blood-red they lie, the dice of fa… That have no time nor period, And know no early and no late. Postpone you can not, nor advance

Beyond lost seas of summer she Dwelt on an island of the sea, Last scion of that dynasty, Queen of a race forgotten long.- With eyes of light and lips of son…

I heard the wind last night that c… Like some old skipper’s ghost outs… And on the roof the rain that tram… Like feet of seamen on a deck stor… Against the pane the Night with s…

Out in Oldham County once Met a boy who showed me how He could milk an old red cow. Yes; he was n’t any dunce. Put me on an old-gray mare;

There is nothing that eases my hea… As the wind that blows from the pu… ’Tis a hand of balsam whose healin… Unburdens my bosom of ills. There is nothing that causes my so…

There was once a little boy— So my father told me—who Never cared for any toy, But just sweet things, as boys do, Cakes and comfits, cream and ice,

There’s a bug at night that goes Drowsily down the garden ways; Lumberingly above the rose, And above the jasmine sprays; Bumping, bungling, buzzing by,

Summer met Sleep at sunset, Dreaming within the south, Drugged with his soul’s deep slumb… Red with her heart’s hot drouth, These are the drowsy kisses