The waterfall, deep in the wood, Talked drowsily with solitude, A soft, insistent sound of foam, That filled with sleep the forest’… Where, like some dream of dusk, sh…

The rain made ruin of the rose and… The lily into tatters: now the Mo… Looks from the hopeless East with… As from her attic looks a dull-eye… The coreopsis drips; the sunflower…

We were a crew of what you please, Men with the lust of gold gone mad… Dutch and Yankee and Portuguese, With a nigger or two from Trinida… The scum of the Caribbees:

‘He cometh not,’ she said.’ —MARIANA It will not be to-day and yet I think and dream it will; and let The slow uncertainty devise

It seemed the listening forest hel… Before some vague and unapparent f… Of fear, approaching with the wing… On the impending storm. Above the hills, big, bellying clo…

There is a scent of roses and spil… Between the moonlight and the laur… The marble idol glimmers on its sh… White as a star, among a heaven of… Here all my life lies like a spilt…

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…

There’s a story no one knows, But myself, about a rose And a fairy and a star Where the Toyland people are. Once when I had gone to bed,

Here’s to her who bears the name Of our State; May the glory of her fame Be as great! In the battle’s dread eclipse,

When on the mountain tops ray-crow… Turns his swift arrows, dart on gl… Let but a rock glint green, the wi… Glad-grazing shyly on each sparse-… Rolled into plunging torrents spri…

Here is a tale for prelates and fo… There was a scarecrow once, a thin… And sticks and straw, to whom men… Of weighty moment murders, thefts… None saw he was a scarecrow. Ever…

Where rise the brakes of bramble t… Wrapped with the trailing rose; Through cane where waters ramble,… Where deep the sword-grass grows, Who knows?

I saw the daughters of the ocean d… With wind and tide, and heard them… White hands they waved me, tossing… Green as the light an emerald hold… Their music bound me as with necro…

Youth, with an arrogant air, Passes me by: Age, on his tottering staff, Stops with a sigh. ‘Here is a flower, ’he says,

Low clouds, the lightning veins an… Torn from the forest of the storm, Sweep westward like enormous leave… O’er field and farm. And in the west, on burning skies,