Ah me! I shall not waken soon From dreams of such divinity! A spirit singing 'neath the moon To me. Wild sea-spray driven of the storm

UPON the iron crags of War I he… In battle speak while at their fee… In gulfs of human waters, A voice, intoning, ‘Where is God?… And to my heart, in doubt, I said…

I saw the spirit of the pines that… With spirits of the ocean and the… Against the tumult rose its tatter… Wild rain and darkness round it li… Fearful it stood, limbed like some…

Here is a tale for all who wish to… There was a thief who, in his cut-… Was hailed as chief; he had a way… Persuasion, masked, behind a weapo… That made it cockrow with each goo…

There is no rhyme that is half so… As the song of the wind in the rip… There is no metre that’s half so f… As the lilt of the brook under roc… And the loveliest lyric I ever he…

In the woods, not long ago, Met with Robin Goodfellów; First we heard his horse-like laug… In an ivy-bush near by; Then we saw him, like a calf,

Between the rose’s and the canna’s… Beneath her window in the night I… The jeweled dew hangs little stars… The white moonflowers each a spiri… That points the path to mystic sha…

The hills hang woods around, where… Dark, breezy boughs of beech-trees… Crisp with the brittle hulls of la… The water hums one bar there; and… Of gold lies steady where the trai…

When the hornet hangs in the holly… And the brown bee drones i’ the ro… And the west is a red-streaked fou… And summer is near its close– It’s oh, for the gate and the locu…

Now ’tis the time when, tall, The long blue torches of the bellf… Among the trees; and, by the woode… In many a fragrant ball, Blooms of the button-bush fall.

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,

Here is a tale for any one who wis… There grew a cabbage once among th… A plain, broad cabbage a good wenc… Were kitchen-busy with plebeian di… The rose and lily, toilless, witho…

Non numero horas nisi serenas When Fall drowns morns in mist, i… In soul I am a part of it; A portion of its humid beams, A form of fog, I seem to flit

This is the heart’s own day: With dreaming eyes Life seems to look away Beyond the skies Into some long-gone May.

The night is sad with silver and t… And the woodland silence listens t… Of the Lady of the Fountain, whom… With her limbs of samite whiteness… Whom the boyish South Wind seeks…