The old gate clicks, and down the… Between clove-pink and hollyhock, Still young of face though gray of… Among her garden’s flowers she goe… At evening’s close,

When the lily nods in slumber, And the roses all are sleeping; When the night hangs deep and umbe… And the stars their watch are keep… When the clematis uncloses

Upon the Siren-haunted seas, betw… Within a world of moon and mist, w… I see a phantom galley and its hul… With ghostly oars that move to son… ‘Oh, we are sick of rowing here!

With a look and a laugh where the… September led me along the land; Where the golden-rod and lobelia,… Seemed burning torches within her… And faint as the thistle’s or milk…

Wherein is it so beautiful? In all things dim and all things c… In silence, that is built of leave… And wind and spray of waterfall; And, golden as the half-ripe sheav…

Down all the lanterned Bagdad of… He steals, with golden justice for… Within his palace you shall know t… A blood-smeared headsman hides beh…

The path that winds by wood and st… Is not the path for me to-day; The path I take is one of dream, That leads me down a twilight way. By towns, where myths have only be…

More than cakes or anything I like tales of shivering. Once a scarecrow on a hill Tossed his ragged arms at me That was when I went to see

I Saw the day like some great mon… Gold-couched, behind the clouds’ r… Then, purple-sandaled, clad in sil… Of sleep, through halls of skyey l… The twilight, like a mourning quee…

What joy you take in making hotnes… In emphasising dulness with your b… Making monotony more monotonous! When Summer comes, and drouth hat… In all the creeks, we hear your ra…

Lay but a finger on That pallid petal sweet, It trembles gray and wan Beneath the passing feet. But soft! blown rose, we know

WITH her fair face she made my h… Beneath whose stars and moon and s… I worshiped, praying, having striv… For wealth through which she might… And yet she had no soul: A woman

THE old house leans upon a tree Like some old man upon a staff: The night wind in its ancient porc… Sounds like a hollow laugh. The heaven is wrapped in flying cl…

NIGHT, they say, is no man’s fri… And at night he met his end In the woods of Trebizend. Hate crouched near him as he strod… Through the blackness of the road,

The barberry burns, the rose-hip c… And haw and sumach hedge the hill… Down which the road winds, worn of… Only the blueberry-picker plods no… Here once the quarry-driver, brown…