To it the forest tells The mystery that haunts its heart… Its form in cogitation deep, that… The shadow of each myth that dwell… In nature be it Nymph or Fay or…

‘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…

With rod and line I took my way That led me through the gossip tre… Where all the forest was asway With hurry of the running breeze. I took my hat off to a flower

BEFORE the rain, low in the obs… Weak and morose the moon hung, sic… Around its disc the storm mists, c… Wove an enormous web, wherein it l… Like some white spider hungry for…

She walks the woods, when evening… With spirits of the winds and leav… And to her side the soul she calls Of every flower she perceives. She walks with introspective eyes

Magician he, who, autumn nights, Down from the starry heavens whirl… A harlequin in spangled tights, Whose wand’s touch carpets earth w… Through him each pane presents a s…

Oh, the morning meads, the dewy me… Where he ploughs and harrows and s… Singing a song of manly deeds, In the blossoming springtime weath… The heart in his bosom as high as…

He makes a roadway of the crumblin… Or on the fallen tree,-brown as a… Fall stripes with russet,-gambols… Green twilight of the woods. We s… He comes, nor whither (in a time s…

She was strange as the orchids tha… And glimmer and shower their balm And bloom on the tropical ocean, That crystals round islands of pal… And she sang to and beckoned and b…

When from the tower, like some swe… The bell drops petals of the hour, That says the world is homing, My heart puts off its garb of care And clothes itself in gold and vai…

There’s nothing to do in the morni… Till it’s time to get up and dress… Till my nurse comes in to button a… And dress me more or less: Then it’s time to get up, get up,…

Yea, why I love thee let my heart… I look upon thy face and then divi… How men could die for beauty, such… Deeming it sweet To lay my life and manhood at thy…

Here is a tale for spinsters at th… There was a goose, a little goslin… Who went her goose-girl way and lo… As every goose should when ’tis wi… Proper was she as every gosling sh…

Reconciliation LISTEN, dearest! you must love… More than you did before!— Hark, what a beating here of wings… Never at rest,

When in the pansy-purpled stain Of sunset one far star is seen, Like some bright dropp of rain, Out of the forest, deep and green, O’er me at Spirit seems to lean,