LIFE was unkind to him; All things went wrong: Fortune assigned to him Merely a song. Ever a mystery

There is a scent of roses and spil… Between the moonlight and the laur… The marble idol glimmers on its sh… White as a star, among a heaven of… Here all my life lies like a spilt…

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…

Noera, when sad Fall Has grayed the fallow; Leaf-cramped the wood-brook’s braw… In pool and shallow; When, by the woodside, tall

An hour from dawn: The snow sweeps on As it swept with sleet last night: The Earth around Breathes never a sound,

Dark in the west the sunset’s somb… Unrolled vast walls the rams of wa… Along whose battlements the battle… Tempestuous beacons; and, with gat… A mighty city, red with ruin and s…

Far to the South a star, Bright-shining over all; And a sound of voices singing, ‘Round a Babe in an ox’s-stall. Three Kings a-riding, riding,

He was not learned in any art; But Nature led him by the hand; And spoke her language to his hear… So he could hear and understand: He loved her simply as a child;

The roses mourn for her who sleeps Within the tomb; For her each lily-flower weeps Dew and perfume. In each neglected flower-bed

Dark, drear, and drizzly, with vap… The day goes dully unto its close; Its wet robe smutches each thing i… Its fingers sully and wreck the ro… Around the railing and garden-pali…

The spring may come in her pomp an… And Summer follow with rain and r… Or Fall lead in that old offender… Winter, close-huddled up in snows: Ever a-South the Love-wind blows

Lay but a finger on That pallid petal sweet, It trembles gray and wan Beneath the passing feet. But soft! blown rose, we know

A rollicking song for the morn, my… A rollicking song for the morn: It’s up and out with a laugh and s… While the bright sun circles the w… And the dew is on the corn, my boy…

Here is a tale for any one who wis… There grew a cabbage once among th… A plain, broad cabbage a good wenc… Were kitchen-busy with plebeian di… The rose and lily, toilless, witho…

This is the heart’s own day: With dreaming eyes Life seems to look away Beyond the skies Into some long-gone May.