Beneath an old beech-tree They sat together, Fair as a flower was she Of summer weather. They spoke of life and love,

From the idyll 'Wild Thorn and L… O Maytime woods! O Maytime lanes… And stars, that knew how often the… Beside the path, where woodbine od… Between the drowsy eyelids of the…

The hat he wore was full of holes, And his battered shoes were worn t… His shirt was a rag, held together… And his trousers patched with outs… A negro tramp, a roustabout,

There’s nothing to do in the morni… Till it’s time to get up and dress… Till my nurse comes in to button a… And dress me more or less: Then it’s time to get up, get up,…

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

Some drink to Friendship, some to… Through whom the world is fair, pe… But I to one these others prove, Who leaps 'mid lions for a glove, Or dies to set another free

Far as the eye can see, in domes a… Buttress and curve, ruins of shift… In whose wild making wind and sea… The white dunes stretch. The wind… Striving for strange effects that…

They’ve torn the old house down, t… Like some kind mother, in this pla… Hugged by its orchard and its wood… Two sturdy children, strong of rac… This formal place makes no appeal.

NIGHT, they say, is no man’s fri… And at night he met his end In the woods of Trebizend. Hate crouched near him as he strod… Through the blackness of the road,

A pond of filth a sewer flows into… Around whose edge the evil ragweed… Poison in every breath; and, cloud… Insects that sing and sting, the p… All hideousness, from every street…

Sweet lies! the sweetest ever hear… To her he said: Her heart remembers every word Now he is dead. I ask:' If thus his lies can make

Down through the woods, along the… That fords the stream; by rock and… Where in the bramble-bell the bee Swings; and through twilights gree… The redbird flashes suddenly,

WHAT shall her silence keep Under the sun? Here, where the willows weep And waters run; Here, where she lies asleep,

What is the gold of mortal-kind To that men find Deep in the poet’s mind! That magic purse Of Dreams from which

He stands above all worldly schism… And, gazing over life’s abysm Beholds within the starry range Of heaven laws of death and change… That, through his soul’s prophetic…