The moth and beetle wing about The garden ways of other days; Above the hills, a fiery shout Of gold, the day dies slowly out, Like some wild blast a huntsman bl…

With her 't is well now. She died… With all her hope and faith unmarr… Nor lived to see the pearls, Love… Without regard, Cast, lost among

How long ago it is since we went… Since she and I went Maying long… The years have left my forehead li… Have thinned my hair around the te… Ah, time will change us: yea, I h…

Here is a tale for gossips and cha… There lived a woman once, a straig… Whose only love was slander. Noth… Escaped her vulture eye. Like som… Her course of life pointed to Hea…

O heart,-that beat the bird’s blit… The blithe bird’s strain, and unde… The song it sang to leaf and bud,- What dost thou in the wood? O soul,-that kept the brook’s glad…

Wild clouds roll up, slag-dark and… And in the oaks the sere wind sobs… Weird as a word a man before he di… Mutters beneath his breath yet fea… The rain drives down; and by each…

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,

The ant is busy with its house, The bee is at its tree; And by its nest among the boughs The bird makes melody. The Day, reluctant still to leave…

There was moonlight in the garden… There was scent of pink and peony… When adown the pathway whitely, wh… She came stepping, oh, so lightly, To the old gate made of pickets.

LOW, weed-climbed cliffs, o’er wh… The sea-mists swoon: Wind-twisted pines, through which… Goes winging slow: Dim fields, the sower never sows,

Miranda-like, above the world she… The wand of Prospero; and, beauti… Ariel the airy, Caliban the dull, Lightning and steam, are her unwil…

A lilac mist maizes warm the hills… And silvery through it threads a.s… The redbird’s cadence throbs and t… The jaybirds scream. The bluets’ stars begin to gleam,

Like colored lanterns swung in El… Wild morning-glories light the tan… And, like the rosy rockets of the… Burns the sloped crimson of the ca…

On receiving a bottle of Sherry W… WHAT 'blushing Hippocrene’ is he… Of the 'warm South’ with magic of… Through which again I seem to vie… Of all Cervantes’ dreams, his hea…

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,