#English
Autumn and Winter, Summer and Spring— Hath Time no other song to sing? Weary we grow of the changeless tu… June—December,
A battered swordsman, slashed and… I scarce had thought to fight agai… But love of the old game dies hard… So to’t, my lady, if you’re fain! I’m scarce the mettle to refrain,
The world is wide-around yon court… Where dirty little children play, Another world of street on street Grows wide and wider every day. And round the town for endless mil…
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…
LOUD mockers in the roaring stre… Say Christ is crucified again: Twice pierced His gospel-bearing… Twice broken His great heart i… I hear, and to myself I smile,
I am so fair that wheresoe’er I w… Men yearn with strange desire to k… Stretch out their hands to touch m… And women follow me from place to… A poet writing honey of his dear
Give me the lifted skirt, And the brave ways of wrong, The fist, the dagger and the sword… And the out-spoken song. Ah! bring me not the love
Why did she marry him? Ah, say wh… How was her fancy caught? What was the dream that he drew he… Or was she only bought? Gave she her gold for a girlish wh…
From tavern to tavern Youth passes along, With an armful of girl And a heart full of song. From flower to flower
(Obiit Nov. 18, 1909) America grows poorer day by day– Richer and richer, I have heard s… They thought of a poor wealth I d… For, one by one, the men who dream…
God of the Wine List, roseate lor… And is it really then good-by? Of Prohibitionists abhorred, Must thou in sorry sooth then die, (O fatal morning of July!)
Down where the unconquered river s… One strong free thing within a pri… I drew me with my sacred grief apa… That it might look that spacious j… And as I mused, lo! Dante walked…
‘The old gods pass,’ the cry goes… ‘Lo! how their temples strew the g… Nor mark we where, on new-fledged… Faith, like the phoenix, soars and…
My head is at your feet, Two Cytherean doves, The same, O cruel sweet, As were the Queen of Love’s; They brush my dreaming brows
Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we may, how wise is love— Love grown old and grey with years… Love whose blood is thinned with t… Philosophic lover I,