Man’s are the learnings of his boo… What is all knowledge that he know… Beside the wit of winding brooks, The wisdom of the summer rose! How soil distills the scent in flo…

More than cakes or anything I like tales of shivering. Once a scarecrow on a hill Tossed his ragged arms at me That was when I went to see

All hushed of glee, The last chill bee Clings wearily To the dying aster. The leaves dropp faster:

The hat he wore was full of holes, And his battered shoes were worn t… His shirt was a rag, held together… And his trousers patched with outs… A negro tramp, a roustabout,

I oft have met her slowly wanderin… Beside a leafy stream, her locks b… Her cheeks a hectic flush, more fa… As if on her the sumach copse had… Or I have seen her sitting, tall…

There is nothing at all to do to-d… I can’t go out and run and play; For it’s raining and snowing and s… And Old Man Winter he is to blam… And I just sit here and think it…

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…

The scent of dittany was hot. Its smell intensified the heat: Into his brain it seemed to beat With memories of a day forgot, When she walked with him through t…

Be of good cheer, and have no fear Of Fortune or Tomorrow: To Hope’s low whisper lend an ear And turn away from Sorrow. Time out of mind the soul is blind

From hill and hollow, side by side… The shadows came, like dreams, to… And watch, mysterious, sunset-eyed… The wool-winged moths and bats afl… And the lone owl that cried and cr…

Whenever on the windowpane I hear the fingers of the rain, And in the old trees, near the doo… The wind that whispers more and mo… Bright in the light made by the la…

Don’t know what to do to-day. Got so many things to do I can’t do them. Want to play, But my toys are all too new I don’t like to play with them:

A tranquil bar Of rosy twilight under dusk’s firs… A glimmering sound Of whispering waters over grassy g… A sun-sweet smell

Summer, gowned in catnip-gray, Goes her weedy wildwood way, Where with rosehip-buttoned coat, Cardinal flower-plume afloat, With the squirrel-folk at play,

High on a throne of noisome ooze a… ‘Mid rotting trees of bayou and la… Ghastly she sits beneath the skele… A tawny horror coiling at her feet Fever, whose eyes keep watching, s…