There’s a scent of pungent wood sm… And a jack-o’-lantern glare, a wil… ’Tis the brush that burns and smou… The old New England ways, When Autumn plants her gipsy tent…

A SHADOW glided down the way Where sunset groped among the tree… And all the woodland bower, asway With trouble of the evening breeze… A shape, it moved with head held d…

Sweet lies! the sweetest ever hear… To her he said: Her heart remembers every word Now he is dead. I ask:' If thus his lies can make

In the frail hepaticas,- That the early Springtide tossed, Sapphire-like, along the ways Of the woodlands that she crossed,… I behold, with other eyes,

The shadows sit and stand about it… Like uninvited guests and poor; And all the long, hot summer day The grating locust dins its rounde… In one old sycamore.

Across the world she sends me word… From gardens fair as Falerina’s, Now by a blossom, now a bird, To come to her, who long has lured With magic sweeter than Alcina’s.

Squaw-Berry, bramble, Solomon’s-s… And rattlesnake-weed make wild the… You seem to feel that a Faun will… Or leap before your face. . . . Is that the reel of a Satyr’s hee…

She comes, the dreamy daughter Of day and night, a girl, Who o’er the western water Lifts up her moon of pearl: Like some Rebecca at the well,

In some quaint Nurnberg maler-atelier Uprummaged. When and where was ne… Nor yet how he obtained it. When,… ’Twas painted-who shall say? itsel…

Sing, Hey, when the time rolls ro… And the bells peal out, ’Tis Chri… The world is better then by half, For joy, for joy; In a little while you will see it…

Let down the bars; drive in the co… The west is barred with burning ro… Unhitch the horses from the plough… And from the cart the ox that lows… And light the lamp within the hous…

Here where a tree and its wild lia… Leaning over the streamlet, grow, Once a nymph, like the moon’d Dia… Sat in the ages long ago. Sat with a mortal. with whom she h…

The Voice of a Man WHAT of the Night, O Watcher? The Voice of a Woman Yea, what of it? The Watcher

In girandoles of gladioles The day had kindled flame; And Heaven a door of gold and pea… Unclosed when Morning, like a gir… A red rose twisted in a curl,

Joy’s is the magic sweet, That makes Youth’s pulses beat, Puts music in young feet, The old heart hears, the sad heart… And Joy’s the pleasant pain,