THE SONG-BIRDS? are they flo… The song-birds of the summer-time, That sang their souls into the day… And set the laughing days to rhyme… No catbird scatters through the hu…

I had not found the road too short… As once I had in days of youth, In that old forest of long ruth, Where my young knighthood broke it… Ere love and it had come to part,

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

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…

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…

White from her chrysalis of cloud, The moth-like moon swings upward t… And all the bee-like stars that cr… The hollow hive of heav’n wane in… Along the distance, folds of mist

Weeds and dead leaves, and leaves… With hues of rust and rose whence… Gnarl’d thorns, from which the kno… On paths the gray moss heaps. One golden flower, like a dreamy t…

Far as the eye can see the land is… And desolation sits among the ston… Looking on ruin who, from rocks li… Stares with a dead face at the dyi… Mounds, where the barberry and bay…

To me not only does her soul sugge… Palms and the peace of tropic shor… But, oceaned far beyond the golden… The Fortunate Islands of true Wo…

Why speak of Rajah rubies, And roses of the South? I know a sweeter crimson A baby’s mouth. Why speak of Sultan sapphires

January Shaggy with skins of frost-furred… Harsh, hoary hair framing a bitter… He bends above the dead Year’s fi… Nursing the last few embers of its…

Here is the place where Lovelines… Between the river and the wooded h… Within a valley where the Springt… Her firstling wind-flowers under b… Where Summer sits braiding her wa…

Deep in a valley, green with ancie… And wandered through of one small,… Whose bear-grassed banks bristled… Tick-trefoil and the thorny marigo… Bush-clover and the wahoo, hung wi…

Where the violet shadows brood Under cottonwoods and beeches, Through whose leaves the restless… Of the river glance, I’ve stood, While the red-bird and the thrush

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,