What words of mine can tell the sp… Of garden ways I know so well?- The path that takes me in the spri… Past quince-trees where the bluebi… And peonies are blossoming,

An agate-black, your roguish eyes Claim no proud lineage of the skie… No starry blue; but of good earth The reckless witchery and mirth. Looped in your raven hair’s repose…

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

When the poppies, with their shiel… Sentinel Forest and the harvest fields, In the bell Of a blossom, fair to see,

Into the sunset’s turquoise marge The moon dips, like a pearly barge Enchantment sails through magic se… To faeryland Hesperides, Over the hills and away.

‘These winter days,’ my father say… ‘When mornings blow and bite and f… And hens sit cackling in the straw… Stiff with the frost as gates that… Remind me of my youth when, raw,

First of the insect choir, in the… We hear his faint voice fluttering… Beneath some blossom’s rosy coveri… Or frond of fern upon a wildwood p… When in the marsh, in clamorous or…

Often, when I wake at night, I can hear the strangest sounds, Stealthy noises, left and right, As of some one going his rounds: On the stairs there comes a crack

There is a little girl I know Who takes her time to come and go. If you should ask her please to hu… She tries her best then to be slow… She gives her parents lots of worr…

The gods are dead; but still for m… Lives on in wildwood brook and tre… Each myth, each old divinity. For me still laughs among the rock… The Naiad; and the Dryad’s locks

An old lane, an old gate, an old h… A wild wood, a wild brook they wil… In boyhood I knew them, and still… Down deep in my heart’s core I he… Through tear-mists behold them ben…

Some drink to Friendship, some to… Through whom the world is fair, pe… But I to one these others prove, Who leaps 'mid lions for a glove, Or dies to set another free

When my mother is n’t here, And I just won’t go to bed, And it’s cold outside and near Christmas; and the kitchen-shed ‘S covered thick with frost and sn…

The mornings raise Voices of gold in the Almighty’s… The sunsets soar In choral crimson from far shore t… Each is a blast,

Summer evenings, when it’s warm, In the yard we sit and swing: And it’s better than a farm, Watching how the fireflies swarm, Listening to the crickets sing,