My soul goes out to her who says, ‘Come, follow me and cast off care… Then tosses back her sun-bright ha… And like a flower before me sways Between the green leaves and my ga…

The slender snail clings to the le… Gray on its silvered underside; And slowly, slowlier than the snai… Bright steps, whose ripening touch… Her warm hands berry-dyed,

Seemingly over the hill-tops, Possibly under the hills, A tireless wing that never drops, And a song that never stills. Epics heard on the stars’ lips?

Once a charcoal wagon passed, And an old black charcoalman, ‘Blacker than a midnight blast,’ Mother said. And he began Crying, ‘Charcoal! charcoal!

A friend for you and a friend for… A friend to understand; To cheer the way and help the day With heart as well as hand: With heart as well as hand, my dea…

With argosies of dawn he sails, And triremes of the dusk, The Seas of Song, whereon the gal… Are myths that trail wild musk. He hears the hail of Siren bands

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…

It is not early spring and yet Of bloodroot blooms along the stre… And blotted banks of violet, My heart will dream. Is it because the windflower apes

THERE is a house beside a way, Where dwells a ghost of Yesterday… The old face of a beauty, faded, Looks from its garden: and the sha… Long walks of locust-trees, that s…

These-the bright symbols of man’s… In which he reads his blessing or… Are syllables with which God spea… In the vast utterance of the unive…

Great clouds of sullen seal and go… Bar bleak the tawny west, From which all day the-thunder rol… And storm streamed, crest on crest… Now silvery in its deeps of bronze

Far in the purple valleys of illus… I see her waiting, like the soul o… With deep eyes, lovelier than ceru… Shadow and fire, yet merciless as… With red lips, sweeter than Arabi…

The clouds that tower in storm, th… Arterial thunder in their veins; The wildflowers lifting, shyly swe… Their perfect faces from the plain… All high, all lowly things of Ear…

The gladness of our Southern spri… Of summer; and the dreaminess of f… Are parts of her sweet nature. Su… Was Ruth’s, methinks, divinely sp…

Non numero horas nisi serenas When Fall drowns morns in mist, i… In soul I am a part of it; A portion of its humid beams, A form of fog, I seem to flit