Like some wild child that laughs a… Impatient of its mother’s arms, The wood brook from the hillside l… Eager to reach the neighboring far… Complaining crystal in its throat

On nights like this, when bayou an… Dream in the moonlight’s mystic ra… I seem to walk like one deep in a… With old-world myths born of the m… Lascivious eyes and mouths of sens…

Yea, why I love thee let my heart… I look upon thy face and then divi… How men could die for beauty, such… Deeming it sweet To lay my life and manhood at thy…

Dormered and verandaed, cool, Locust-girdled, on the hill; Stained with weather—wear, and dul… Streak’d with lichens; every sill Thresholding the beautiful;

There it lies broken, as a shard, What breathed sweet music yesterda… The source, all mute, has passed a… With its masked meanings still unm… But melody will never cease!

Those were the days of doubt. How… It all comes back! This ribbon, s… Brings that far past so very near I lose my own identity, And seem two beings: one that’s he…

What is it now that I shall seek Where woods dip downward, in the h… A mossy nook, a ferny creek, And May among the daffodils. Or in the valley’s vistaed glow,

The locust builds its are of sound And tops it with a spire; The roadside leaves pant to the gr… With dust from hoof and tire. The insects, day and night, make d…

The bitter-sweet and red-haw in he… And in her hair pale berries of th… She haunts the coves and every Ca… The Indian, Autumn, wandered from… Beside the sea, upon a rock, she s…

O Days that hold us; and years th… And dreams and mem’ries no time de… Where lie the islands, the morning… And where the highlands we knew wh… Oh, tell us, whether the happy hea…

O voice of ecstasy and lyric pain, Divinely throated and divinely hea… Among old England’s songsters! Sp… Haunting the woods of song with ra… In whose wild music Love is born…

Sodden and shivering, in mud and r… Half in the light that serves but… The blackness of an alley and the… Homeward of wretchedness in tatter… A boy stands crouched; big drops o…

There are three things of Earth That help us more Than those of heavenly birth That all implore Than Love or Faith or Hope,

Here is a tale for infants and old… There was a man who gathered rags;… Who lived alone: with no one ever… And this old man was very fond of… His house, a ruin, so the tale reh…

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,