Only a breath-hardly a breath! Th… Is still a huddled alabaster floor Of shelving ice and shattered slab… Stern wreckage of the fiercely fro… Gleaming in mailed wastes of white…

You often ask me, love, how much… Bidding my fancy find An answer to your mind; I say: ‘Past count, as there are… You shake your head and say,

Waiting in the woodland, watching… Thinking every leaf that stirs the… Thinking every whisper the rustle… How my heart goes up and up, and t… First it is a squirrel, then it is…

At last I got a letter from the d… And out of it there fell a little… The violet of an unforgotten hour.

When all the world has gone awry, And I myself least favour find With my own self, and but to die And leave the whole sad coil behin… Seems but the one and only way;

Your birthday, sweetheart, is my b… For, had you not been born, I who began to live beholding you Up early as the morn, That day in June beside the rose-…

My love said she had nought to wea… Her garments all were old, And soon her body must go bare Against the winter’s cold. I took her out into the dawn,

May is back, and You and I Are at the stream again— The leaves are out, And all about The building birds begin

Winter, some call thee fair, Yea! flatter thy cold face With vain compare Of all thy glittering ways And magic snows

(Chant Royal) O MIGHTY Queen, our Lady of th… The light, the music, and the hone… Blent in one Power, one passionat… Man calleth Love-'Sweet love,' th…

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…

Art is a gipsy, Fickle as fair, Good to kiss and flirt with, But marry—if you dare!

Doth it not thrill thee, Poet, Dead and dust though thou art, To feel how I press thy singing Close to my heart?- Take it at night to my pillow,

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

Brother that ploughs the furrow I… God give thee grace, and fruitful… Tis fair sweet earth, be it under… And all about it ever the birds si… Yet do I pray your seed fares not…