From 'Wild Thorn and Lily’ Among the white haw-blossoms, wher… Droned under drifts of dogwood and… The redbird, like a crimson blosso… Against the snow-white bosom of th…

These are the things I pray Heave… To blow the ashes of the years awa… Or keep aglow forever 'neath their… The fire that warms when Life’s o… First Faith, that gazed into our…

We tightened stirrup; buckled rein… Looked to our saddle-girths again; Shook hands all round; then mounte… The gate swung wide: we said, ‘Go… No time for talk had Bell and I.

I took the road again last night On which my boyhood’s hills look d… The old road leading from the town… The village there below the height… Its cottage homes, all huddled bro…

I passed a cottage ‘twixt the town… And marked its garden, blossoming… And breathing many a scent. Awhil… Near pink and marigold. It seemed a place of prayer; of lo…

I remember, when a child, How within the April wild Once I walked with Mystery In the groves of Arcady…. Through the boughs, before, behind…

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,

What wood-god, on this water’s mos… Lost in reflections of earth’s lov… Did I, just now, unconsciously di… I, who haphazard, wandering at a g… Came on this spot, wherein, with g…

In heavens of riveted blue, that s… With glaucous flame, deep in the w… Stands Midas-like; or, wading on… Touches with splendor all the twil… Each cloud that, like a stepping-s…

There is a voice that calls to me;… That calls within my heart of hear… When Summer doffs her crown, my d… The spirit of September walks thr… It calls my heart beyond the mart,…

Here is a tale for poets and for p… There was a bagpipe once, that whe… And droned vile discords, notes th… Nasal and harsh, outbraying all th… And then the thing assumed another…

Magician he, who, autumn nights, Down from the starry heavens whirl… A harlequin in spangled tights, Whose wand’s touch carpets earth w… Through him each pane presents a s…

Whether it be that we in letters t… The pure exactness of a wood bird’… And name it song; or with the brus… The high perfection of a wildflowe… Or mold in difficult marble all th…

I HAD forgot how, in my day The Sabine fields around me lay In amaranth and asphodel, With many a cold Bandusian well Bright-bubbling by the mountain-wa…

They who take courage from their o… Are victors too, no matter how muc…