What were this life without her? Joy, whose young face is sweet With dreams that flit about her, And rapture wild of feet! With hope, that knows no languor,

There is a hall in every house, Behind whose wainscot gnaws the mo… Along whose sides are empty rooms, Peopled with dreams and ancient do… When down this hall you take your…

The frogs still cry, ‘Knee-deep!… Among its starlit pools, When dark the woodland lies asleep… And dusk its water cools: The fireflies round its bank of fe…

THE wind that met her in the park… Came hurrying to my side— It ran to me, it leapt to me, And nowhere would abide. It whispered in my ear a word,

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…

It’s-Oh, for the hills, where the… With a vagabond foot that follows! And a cheer-up hand that he claps… Your arm with the hearty words, '… We’ll soon be out of the hollows,

The dawn is a warp of fever, The eve is a woof of fire; And the month is a singing weaver Weaving a red desire. With stars Dawn dices with Even

Red-Faced as old carousal, and wi… A hard, hot blue; her hair a frows… Bold, dowdy-bosomed, from her wido… She leans, her mouth all insult an… Or slattern-slippered and in slutt…

Where are they, that song and tale Tell of? lands our childhood knew? Sea-locked Faerylands that trail Morning summits, dim with dew, Crimson o’er a crimson sail.

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…

Oh, the morning meads, the dewy me… Where he ploughs and harrows and s… Singing a song of manly deeds, In the blossoming springtime weath… The heart in his bosom as high as…

All hushed of glee, The last chill bee Clings wearily To the dying aster. The leaves dropp faster:

Thou, oh, thou! Thou of the chorded shell and gold… Of the dark eyes and pale pacific… Music, who by the plangent waves, Or in the echoing night of labyrin…

She sits among the iris stalks Of babbling brooks; and leans for… Among the river’s lily flowers, Or on their whiteness walks: Above dark forest pools, gray rock…

There is no rhyme that is half so… As the song of the wind in the rip… There is no metre that’s half so f… As the lilt of the brook under roc… And the loveliest lyric I ever he…