A Little bird sits in our cottonw… And perks his head and sings; And this is the song he pipes to m… While he flirts his tail and wings… ‘Hello! hello!

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…

‘He cometh not,’ she said.’ —MARIANA It will not be to-day and yet I think and dream it will; and let The slow uncertainty devise

From the hills and far away All the long, warm summer day Comes the wind and seems to say: ‘Come, oh, come! and let us go Where the meadows bend and blow,

The sun sinks scarlet as a barberr… Far off at sea one vessel lifts a… Hurrying to harbor from the coming… That banks the west above a choppy… The sun is gone; the fide is flowi…

White moons may come, white moons… She sleeps where early blossoms bl… Knows nothing of the leafy June, That leans above her night and noo… Crowned now with sunbeam, now with…

Summer met Sleep at sunset, Dreaming within the south, Drugged with his soul’s deep slumb… Red with her heart’s hot drouth, These are the drowsy kisses

At midnight in the trysting wood I wandered by the waterside, When, soft as mist, before me stoo… My sweetheart who had died. But so unchanged was she, meseemed

One well might deem, among these m… Such were the Forests of the Holy… Broceliand and Dean; where, cloth… The Knights of Arthur rode, and a… Of legend laired. And, where no s…

Under the boughs of spring She swung in the old rope-swing. Her cheeks, with their happy blood… Were pink as the apple-bud. Her eyes, with their deep delight,

With her 't is well now. She died… With all her hope and faith unmarr… Nor lived to see the pearls, Love… Without regard, Cast, lost among

Again the earth, miraculous with… Unfolds its vernal arras. Yestery… We strolled together 'neath the gr… And heard the robin tune its flute… And watched above the white cloud…

The Voice of a Man WHAT of the Night, O Watcher? The Voice of a Woman Yea, what of it? The Watcher

THERE a tattered marigold And dead asters manifold, Showed him where the garden old Of time bloomed: Briar and thistle overgrew

Oh, I am going home again, Back to the old house in the lane, And mother! who still sits and sew… With cheeks, each one, a winter ro… A-watching for her boy, you know,