With fall on fall, from wood to wo… The brook pours mossy music down Or is it, in the solitude, The murmur of a Faery town? A town of Elfland filled with bel…

Here is a tale for poets and for p… There was a bagpipe once, that whe… And droned vile discords, notes th… Nasal and harsh, outbraying all th… And then the thing assumed another…

They who take courage from their o… Are victors too, no matter how muc…

THE season of the rose and peace… It could not last. There’s heartbreak in the hills an… Of sorrow in the rain-lashed plain… While Earth regards, aghast,

Hey, little boy, little boy, come… Hey, little boy, little boy, Andy… Hey, little boy, little boy, can i… Your mouth is crumbed with candy?’ ‘What’s that to you? what’s that t…

What mines the morning heavens unf… What far Alaskas of the skies! That, veined with elemental gold, Sierra on Sierra rise. Heap up the gold of all the world,

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

Unto what end, I ask, unto what e… Is all this effort, this unrest an… Work that avails not? strife and m… Ambitions vain that rack our heart… Did labor but avail! did it defend

This was her home; one mossy gable… Above the cedars and the locust tr… This was her home, whose beauty no… A lonely memory for melodies The wild birds sing, the wild bird…

Here is a tale for men and women t… There was a girl who’d ceased to b… Who walked by night with heart lik… A child of sin anathemaed of preac… She had been lovely once; but dye…

An Ode to be read on the laying o… stone of the new Oglethorpe Unive… January, 1915, at Atlanta, Georgia AS when with oldtime passion for…

I saw the Summer through her gard… A marigold hung in her auburn hair… Her brown arms heaped with harvest… Of poppied plenty, like the peach… Among the pepper-pods, in scarlet…

Beneath an old beech-tree They sat together, Fair as a flower was she Of summer weather. They spoke of life and love,

A barren field o’ergrown with thor… It stays for him who waits for hel… Only the soul that makes a plough… Shall know what blossoms underneat…

Where rise the brakes of bramble t… Wrapped with the trailing rose; Through cane where waters ramble,… Where deep the sword-grass grows, Who knows?