Come, walk with me and Memory; And let us see what we shall see: A wild green lane of stones and we… That to a wilder woodland leads. An old board gate, the lichens cru…

Well, what of it then, if your hea… Of the world’s neglect? and the sm… Of doubt, blown into your eyes, ma… And the sting of the goad, The merciless goad of scorn,

Love hath no place in her, Though in her bosom be Love-thoughts and dreams that stir Longings that know not me: Love hath no place in her,

Morning Her rain-kissed face is fresh as r… Is cool and fresh as a rain-wet le… She glimmers at my window-pane, And all my grief

I HEARD a Spirit singing as, be… Its radiant form went swinging lik… In its song prophetic voices mixed… As when, loud, the World rejoices… And it said:

Morn’s mystic rose is reddening on… Dawn’s irised nautilus makes glad… There is a lyre of flame that thro… Far heaven and earth with hope’s w… With lilied field and grove,

THE old house leans upon a tree Like some old man upon a staff: The night wind in its ancient porc… Sounds like a hollow laugh. The heaven is wrapped in flying cl…

With eyes hand-arched he looks int… The morning’s face; then turns awa… With truant feet, all wet with dew… Out for a holiday. The hill brook sings; incessant st…

Rain and black night. Beneath the… The rushing Fork that roars among… Nothing is out. Nothing? What’s t… The long grey road upon the rain-s… A horseman! No! A mask! As hewn…

There is no joy of earth that thri… My bosom like the far-off hills! Th’ unchanging hills, that, shadow… Beckon our mutability To follow and to gaze upon

See how the rose leaves fall The rose leaves fall and fade: And by the wall, in dusk funereal, How leaf on leaf is laid, Withered and soiled and frayed.

Over the roar of cities, Over the hush of the hills, Mounts ever a song that never stop… A voice that never stills. Epic-loud as the sea is,

To it the forest tells The mystery that haunts its heart… Its form in cogitation deep, that… The shadow of each myth that dwell… In nature be it Nymph or Fay or…

On southern winds shot through wit… Breathing soft balm and clothed in… The lily-fingered Spring came o’e… Waking the crocus and the daffodil… O’er the cold Earth she breathed…

From 'Beltenebros at Miraflores’ O sunset, from the springs of star… Draw down thy cataracts of gold; And belt their streams with burnin… Of ruby on which flame is rolled: