OH, for some cup of consummating… Filled with life’s kind conclusion… A wine of darkness, that with deat… This sickness called existence!—O… Surcease of sorrow! quiet for the…

The hills are full of prophecies And ancient voices of the dead; Of hidden shapes that no man sees, Pale, visionary presences, That speak the things no tongue ha…

There is a place I search for sti… Sequestered as the world of dreams… A bushy hollow, and a hill That whispers with descending stre… Cool, careless waters, wandering d…

Below, the tawny Tagus swept Past royal gardens, breathing balm… Upon his couch the monarch slept; The world was still; the night was… Gray, Gothic-gated, in the ray

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,

He waited till within her tower Her taper signalled him the hour. He was a prince both fair and brav… What hope that he would love her s… He of the Persian dynasty;

Among the fields the camomile Seems blown mist in the lightning’… Cool, rainy odors drench the air; Night speaks above; the angry smil… Of storm within her stare.

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…

There is no inspiration in the vie… From where this acorn drops its th… The landscape stretches like a sha… The wrinkled hills hang haggard an… Above them hollows the heaven’s st…

Now is it as if Spring had never… And Winter but a memory and dream… Here where the Summer stands, her… Heaped high with bloom and beam, Among her blackberry-lilies, low t…

Out of it all but this remains: I was with one who crossed wide ch… Of the Cordilleras, whose peaks Lock in the wilds of Yucatan, Chiapas and Honduras. Weeks

I know a pool, whose crystalline r… Sleeps under walls of granite, whe… Leans looking at its image, line f… Repeated with the sumach and wild-… That redden on the rocks; where, a…

First of the insect choir, in the… We hear his faint voice fluttering… Beneath some blossom’s rosy coveri… Or frond of fern upon a wildwood p… When in the marsh, in clamorous or…

There was a man rode into town one… Barefooted, hatless, and without a… It was the dead of winter. Round… Were marks of violence: bits and w… Bristled his beard and hair. From…

Withered and gray as winter; gnarl… With bony hands he crouches by the… His beggar’s coat is patched and w… Rags are his shoes: clutched in hi… A chest he hugs wherein he hoards…