If heart be tired and soul be sad As life goes on in homespun clad, Drab, colorless, with much of care… Not even a ribbon in her hair; Heart-broken for the near and new,

Let us mix a cup of Joy That the wretched may employ, Whom the Fates have made their to… Who have given brain and heart To the thankless world of Art,

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…

The Moonshiner He leans far out and watches: Dow… The road seems but a ribbon throug… The bluff, from which he gazes, wh… Some ox-team or some horseman come…

‘Teach me the wisdom of thy beauty… That, being thus wise, I may aspi… What beauty is, whence, why, and i… Immortal, yet how mortal utterly: For, shrinking loveliness, thy bro…

It’s out and away at break of day, To frolic and run in the sun-sweet… It’s up and out with a laugh and s… Let the old world know that a boy’… It’s ho for the creek that the min…

There’s a boy that you must know, Always ragged, dirty too; Just a wretched sight and show Worst boy that I ever knew; Always hitting other boys

O Dark-Eyed goddess of the marble… Whose look is silence and whose to… Who walkest lonely through the wor… Who sittest lonely with Life’s bl… Who in the hollow hours of night’s…

Here where a tree and its wild lia… Leaning over the streamlet, grow, Once a nymph, like the moon’d Dia… Sat in the ages long ago. Sat with a mortal. with whom she h…

The gate, on ice-hoarse hinges, st… Croaks open; and harsh wagon-wheel… Creaking through cold; the horses’… Around their nostrils; and with sn… The hut is barely seen, from which…

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?

Thou pulse of hotness, who, with r… Makest meridian music, long and lo… Accentuating summer! dost thy best To make the sunbeams fiercer, and… With lonesomeness the long, close…

There is a path that leads Through purple iron-weeds, By button-bush and mallow Along a creek; A path that wildflowers hallow,

There’s a scent of pungent wood sm… And a jack-o’-lantern glare, a wil… ’Tis the brush that burns and smou… The old New England ways, When Autumn plants her gipsy tent…

There was once a little boy— So my father told me—who Never cared for any toy, But just sweet things, as boys do, Cakes and comfits, cream and ice,