Now hath the summer reached her go… And, lost amid her corn-fields, br… Scarcely perceives from her divine… How near, how swift, the inevitabl… Still, still, she smiles, though f…

AEons ago ye were, Before the struggling changeful ra… Wrought into being, ere the tragic… Of human toil and deep desire bega… So shall ye still remain,

If any man, with sleepless care op… On many a night had risen, and add… His hand to make him out of joy an… An image of sweet sleep in carven… Light touch by touch, in weary mom…

We in sorrow coldly witting, In the bleak world sitting, sittin… By the forest, near the mould, Heard the summer calling, calling, Through the dead leaves falling, f…

From plains that reel to southward… The road runs by me white and bare… Up the steep hill it seems to swim Beyond, and melt into the glare. Upward half-way, or it may be

From this windy bridge at rest, In some former curious hour, We have watched the city’s hue, All along the orange west, Cupola and pointed tower,

Beyond the dusky corn-fields, towa… Dotted with farms, beyond the shal… Through drifts of elm with quiet p… Curved white and slender as a lady… Faint and far off out of the autum…

Not, not for thee, Belovèd child, the burning grasp… Shall bruise the tender soul. The… And clamor of midday thou shalt no… But wrapped for ever in thy quiet…

A single dreary elm, that stands b… The sombre forest and the wan-lit… Halves with its slim gray stem and… The shadowed point. Beyond it wit… Bold brows of pine-topped granite…

Why weep ye in your innocent toil… Sweet little hands, why halt and t… Full many a wrong note falls, but… Each note to me is like a golden g… Each broken cadence like a mournin…

What days await this woman, whose… Breathe spells, whose presence mak… Tall, free and slender as the fore… Whose form is moulded music, throu… Frank eyes I feel the very heart’…

Heavy with haze that merges and me… Into the measureless depth on eith… The full day rests upon the lumino… In one long noon of golden reverie… Now hath the harvest come and gone…

A little while, a year agone, I knew her for a romping child, A dimple and a glance that shone With idle mischief when she smiled… To-day she passed me in the press,

The old grey year is near his term… And now with backward eye and soft… Awakens to a golden dream of youth… A second childhood lovely and most… And the smooth hour about his mist…

Day and night pass over, rounding, Star and cloud and sun, Things of drift and shadow, empty Of my dearest one. Soft as slumber was my baby,