Loss molds our lives in many ways, And fills our souls with guesses; Upon our hearts sad hands it lays Like some grave priest that blesse… Far better than the love we win,

Summer may come, in sun-blonde spl… To reap the harvest that Springti… And Fall lead in her old defender… Winter, all huddled up in snows: Ever a-south the love-wind blows

I, who went at nightfall, came aga… On Love’s door again I knocked.… He who oft had bade me in, now wou… Silence sat within his house; barr… When the slow door opened wide thr…

Ere wild-haws, looming in the gloo… Build bolted drifts of breezy bloo… And in the whistling hollow there The red-bud bends, as brown and ba… As buxom Roxy’s up-stripped arm;

Who knows the things they dream, a… Or feel, who lie beneath the groun… Perhaps the flowers, the leaves, a… That close them round. In spring the violets may spell

Sleep is a spirit, who beside us s… Or through our frames like some di… From out her form a pearly light i… As from a lily, in a lily-bed, A firefly’s gleam. Her face is pa…

Those unrequited in their love who… Have never drained life’s chief il…

So Love is dead, the Love we knew… And in the sorrow of our hearts’ h… A lute lies broken and a flower fa… Love’s house stands empty and his… Lone in dim places, where sweet vo…

Oh, roses, roses everywhere but on… But one wild-rose for me, my boy,… My rose of roses, dear my lad, my… The world may keep its roses now,… Oh, song and singing everywhere; t…

He closed his eyes, yet still coul… The leprous hills loom thirstily; The mesquit glimmering; and the du… Of alkali; and, rimmed with rust Of emerald, a mineral pool

She mutters and stoops by the lone… The little green leaves are hushed… An owl in an oak cries’Who-oh-who… And a fox barks back where the moo… The moss that sways to a sudden br…

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…

The melancholy of the woods and pl… When summer nears its close; the d… Unfathomed sadness of the mists th… About the valleys after night-long… The humming garden, with it tawny…

Out, out in the open fields, Where the great, green book of Go… The book that its wisdom yields To each soul that is not a clod, Lies wide for the world to read,

The frogs still cry, ‘Knee-deep!… Among its starlit pools, When dark the woodland lies asleep… And dusk its water cools: The fireflies round its bank of fe…