Old Man Rain at the windowpane Knocks and fumbles and knocks agai… His long-nailed fingers slip and s… Old Man Rain at the windowpane Knocks all night but knocks in vai…

The bubbled blue of morning-glory… Balloon-blown foam of moonflowers,… Of clematis, through which Septem… Song-hearted, rich in realized des… Are flanked by hotter hues: by taw…

‘We have the receipt of fern seed:… —HENRY IV And we have met but twice or thric… Three times enough to make me love… I praised your hair once; then you…

THE WIND IN THE PINES WHEN winds go organing through t… On hill and headland, darkly gleam… Meseems I hear sonorous lines Of Iliads that the woods are drea…

Can one resolve and hunt it from o… This love, this god and fiend, tha… Of many a life, in ways no tongue… No mind divine, nor any word impar… Would not one think the slights th…

When the hoot of the owl comes ove… At twelve o’clock when the night i… And pale on the pools, where the c… Glimmering gray is the light o’ th… And under the willows, where water…

THE Day brims high its ewer Of blue with starry light, And crowns as King that hewer Of clouds (which take their flight Across the sky) old Night.

The west builds high a sepulcher Of cloudy granite and of gold, Where twilight’s priestly hours in… The Day like some great king of o… A censer, rimmed with silver fire,

‘T is n’t long till Christmas now… First thing that you’ll know, it’s… Nurse can tell it, don’t know how, By the smell o’ th’ atmosphere, Shivery and never clear.

Misty are the far-off hills And misty are the near; Purple hazes dimly lie Veiling hill and field and sky, Marshes where the hylas cry,

These are the things which I woul… When I am old, Never to feel in soul doubt’s spir… The heart grow cold With self; but in me that which wa…

Slow sinks the sun, a great carbun… Red in the cavern of a sombre clou… And in her garden, where the dense… Among her dying asters stands the… Like some lone woman in a ruined h…

A LITTLE child, one night, awok… ‘Oh, help me, father! there is som… Before me! help me!’ Hurrying to… I answered, ‘I am here. You dream… ‘A dream?—’ he questioned. ‘Oh, I…

An Oldham-County Weather Philoso… ‘Who is Corncob Jones?’ you say. Beateningest man and talkingest: Talk and talk th’ enduring day, Never even stop to rest,

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…