The deep seclusion of this forest… O’er which the green boughs weave… Along which bluet and anemone Spread dim a carpet; where the Tw… Her cool abode; and, sweet as afte…

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…

White clouds, like thistledown at… That drift through heaven’s azure… The sun beams down; the weedy grou… Vibrates with many an insect sound… Blackberry-lilies in the noon

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,

The wind that breathes of columbin… And celandines that crowd the rock… That shakes the balsam of the pine… With laughter from his airy locks, Stops at my city door and knocks.

Old Sis Snow, with hair ablow, Down the road now see her go! Her old gown pulled back and pinne… Round her legs by Wild-boy Wind Ough n’t he to just be skinned?

Here is a tale for sportsmen when… There was a boar, like that Atala… Who gorged and snored and, unmoles… His fat way through the world as s… Huge-jowled and paunched and porci…

Above lone woodland ways that led To dells the stealthy twilights tr… The west was hot geranium red; And still, and still, Along old lanes the locusts sow

Morning Her rain-kissed face is fresh as r… Is cool and fresh as a rain-wet le… She glimmers at my window-pane, And all my grief

Here is a tale for any man or woma… A fool sought Death; and braved h… Among the graves. At last he hear… And something passed him, monstrou… And by a tomb, that reared a broke…

Not here, O belovéd! not here let… Out there where the storm can enfo… Its breast, that is rainy and cool… In the luminous night of’ the wood… Not here, O belovéd! not here! bu…

When my mother is n’t here, And I just won’t go to bed, And it’s cold outside and near Christmas; and the kitchen-shed ‘S covered thick with frost and sn…

April calling, April calling, April calling me! I hear the voice of April there In each old apple tree: Bee-boom and wild perfume,

IN her vast church of glimmering… Gray-stoled from feet to chin, Her dark locks beaded with the dew… The nun-like dawn comes in: At once the hills put on their spe…