I look about me, and behold How all is changed: The sound and… The kind, the true, the hale and o… That once made strong the features… Of life, are cast in other mold,

Let us go far from here! Here there is sadness in the early… Here sorrow waits where joy went l… The sicklied face of heaven hangs… Above the woodland and the meadowl…

To me all beauty that I see Is melody made visible: An earth-translated state, may be, Of music heard in Heaven or Hell. Out of some love-impassioned strai…

The slender snail clings to the le… Gray on its silvered underside; And slowly, slowlier than the snai… Bright steps, whose ripening touch… Her warm hands berry-dyed,

THE gentian and the bluebell so Can change my calendar, I know not how the year may go, Or what the seasons are: The months, in some mysterious wis…

With a look and a laugh where the… September led me along the land; Where the golden-rod and lobelia,… Seemed burning torches within her… And faint as the thistle’s or milk…

THE woods stretch wild to the mou… And the brush is deep where a man… They have brought the bloodhounds… To the roadside rock where they fo… They have brought the bloodhounds…

Little leaves, that lean your ears From each branch and bough of spri… What is that your rapture hears? Song of bird or flight of wing, All so eager, little ears?

Here is a tale for farmer and for… There was an ox, who might have pl… So strong was he, his huge head li… A Gothic helmet with enormous cre… Stolid of look and slow of hoof an…

Take Heart Take heart again. Joy may be lost… It is not always Spring. And even now from some far Summer… Hither the birds may wing.

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,

THERE is a smell of roses in the… Tea-roses, dead of bloom; An invalid, she sits there in the… And contemplates her doom. The pattern of the paper, and the…

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

Within the world of every man’s de… Two things have power to lift the… The first is Work, who dons a mea… The other, Love, whose raiment is… Their child is Hope, and we the h…

Love one day, in childish anger, Tired of his divinity, Sick of rapture, sick of languor, Threw his arrows in the sea. Since then Ocean, like a woman,