All day upon the garden bright The suns shines strong, But in my heart there is no light, Or any song. Voices of merry life go by,

What do poets want with gold, Cringing slaves and cushioned ease… Are not crusts and garments old Better for their souls than these? Gold is but the juggling rod

Hear me, Brother, gently met; Just a little, turn, not yet, Thou shalt laugh, and soon forget: Now the midnight draweth near. I have little more to tell;

There is no break in all the wide… Nor light on any field, and the wi… And talks of death. Where cold gr… Round greyer stones, and the new-f… Heap the chill hollows of the nake…

I love the warm bare earth and all That works and dreams thereon: I love the seasons yet to fall: I love the ages gone, The valleys with the sheeted grain…

Out of the Northland sombre weird… A shadow falleth southward day by… Sad summers arms grow cold; his fi… His feet draw back to give the ste… It is the voice and shadow of the…

To-night the very horses springing… Toss gold from whitened nostrils.… The streets that narrow to the wes… Like rows of golden palaces; and h… From all the crowded chimneys towe…

The long days came and went; the r… Tore the warm grapes in many a dus… And men grew faint and thin with t… And Winter gave no sign: But all the while beyond the north…

Out of the heart of the city begot… Of the labour of men and their man… Whose souls, that were sprung from… No longer regard or remember her w… Whose hearts in the furnace of car…

Pale season, watcher in unvexed su… Still priestess of the patient mid… Betwixt wild March’s humored petu… And the warm wooing of green kirtl… Maid month of sunny peace and sobe…

Belovèd, those who moan of love’s… Shall find but little grace with m… Who know too well this passion’s t… To deem that it shall lightly pass… A moment’s interlude in life’s dul…

I stand at noon upon the heated fl… At the bleached crossing of two st… With brain scarce conscious now th… Of noonday passengers is done. Tw… Stand at an open doorway piled wit…

In his dim chapel day by day The organist was wont to play, And please himself with fluted rev… And all the spirit’s joy and strif… The longing of a tender life,

Songs that could span the earth, When leaping thought had stirred t… In many an hour since birth, We heard or dreamed we heard them. Sometimes to all their sway

Where swallows and wheatfields are… O hamlet brown and still, O river that shineth far, By meadow, pier, and mill: O endless sunsteeped plain,