Fly, little note, And know no rest Till warm you lie Within that nest Which is her breast;

O sad-eyed man who yonder sits, Face in a book from morn till nigh… Who, though the world should go to… Pores on right through the waning… O is it sorrow or delight

(WESTMINSTER, OCTOBER 12,… Great man of song, whose glorious… Within the lap of death sleeps wel… Down the dark road, seeking the de… Thy faithful, fearless, shining so…

With laughter always on the darkes… She danced before the very face of… Starry companion of my mortal way, Pre-destined merrily to be my mate… With eyes as calm, she met the eye…

O spirit of Life, by whatsoe’er a… Known among men, even as our fathe… Before thee, and as little childre… For counsel in Life’s dread predi… Even we, with all our lore,

When the embalmer closed my eyes, And all the family went in black, And shipped me off to Paradise, I had no thought of coming back; I dreamed of undisturbed repose

Little chipmunk, do you know All you mean to me?— She and I and Long Ago, And you there in the tree; With that nut between your paws,

(TO EDMUND GOSSE) Still towards the steep Parnassia… The moon-led pilgrims wend, Ah, who of all that start to-day Shall ever reach the end?

Go, little book, and be the lookin… Of her dear soul, The mirror of her moments as they… Keeping the whole; Wherein she still may look on yest…

Bring not your dreams to me— Blown dust, and vapour, and the ru… Saying, ‘He, too, doth dream, Touched of the moon.’ Nay! wouldst thou vanish see

When leaf and flower are newly mad… And bird and butterfly and bee Are at their summer posts again; When all is ready, lo! ’tis she, Suddenly there after soft rain–

I’m not sorry I am older, love—ar… Over all youth’s fuss and flurry, All its everlasting hurry, All its solemn self-importance and… Perhaps we missed the highest reac…

Wild bird, I stole you from your… And cannot find your nest again; To hear you chirp a little while I wrung your mother’s heart with p… And here you sit and droop and die…

War I abhor, And yet how sweet The sound along the marching stree… Of drum and fife, and I forget

As in the woodland I walk, many a… How from the dross and the drift t… And the fires quenched in October… How foulness grows fair with the s… of sleets and snows,