Each form of beauty’s but the new… Of thoughts more beautiful than fo… Sceptics, who search with unanoint… Never the Earth’s wild fairy-danc…

She mutters and stoops by the lone… The little green leaves are hushed… An owl in an oak cries’Who-oh-who… And a fox barks back where the moo… The moss that sways to a sudden br…

Dusk is thy dawn; when Eve puts o… Of gold and purple in the marbled… Thou comest forth like some embodi… Or dim conceit, a lily bud confess… Or of a rose the visible wish; tha…

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…

The thorn-tree waved a bough of M… And all its branches bent To indicate the wildwood way The Wind and Sunbeam went. A wildrose here, a wildrose there

Misty are the far-off hills And misty are the near; Purple hazes dimly lie Veiling hill and field and sky, Marshes where the hylas cry,

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…

Low, swallow-swept and gray, Between the orchard and the spring… All its wide windows overflowing h… And crannied doors a-swing, The old barn stands to-day.

Here where the season turns the la… Among the fields our feet have kno… When we were children who would la… Glad little playmates of the wind… Before came toil and care and year…

Heaped in raven loops and masses Over temples smooth and fair, Have you marked it, as she passes, Gleam and shadow mingled there, Braided strands of midnight air,

Their only thought religion, What Christmas joys had they, The stern, staunch Pilgrim Father… Knew naught of holiday? A log-church in the clearing

When all the world was Mayday, And all the skies were blue, Young innocence made playday Among the flowers and dew; Then all of life was Mayday,

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

The waters leap, The waters roar; And on the shore One sycamore Stands, towering hoar.

With a look and a laugh where the… September led me along the land; Where the golden-rod and lobelia,… Seemed burning torches within her… And faint as the thistle’s or milk…