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,

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,

Her talk was all of woodland thing…    Of little lives that pass Away in one green afternoon,    Deep in the haunted grass; For she had come from fairyland,

Always thy book, too late acknowle… Now when thine eyes no earthly pag… Blinded with death, or blinded wit… Of love’s own lore celestial. Sma… Forsooth, for thee to read my eart…

Blue flower waving in the wind, Say whose blue eyes Lift up your swaying fragile stem To the blue skies. Is she a queen that lies asleep

This is the year that has no Chri… Even the little children must be t… That something sad is happening fa… Or, if you needs must play, As children must,

Alone! once more alone! how like a… My little parlour sounds which onl… Yearned like some holy chancel wit… So still! so empty! Surely one mi… The walls should meet in ruinous c…

To Irma, Not all my treasure hath the bandi… Locked in his glimmering caverns o… Fair women dead and friendships of… And noble dreams that had to end a…

Away from the silent hills and the… of upland waters, The high still stars and the lonel… in her quarters, I fly to the city, the streets, th…

Why should I ask perfection of th… That have so little of mine own to… That thou art beautiful from head… Is that, beloved, such a little th… That I should ask more of thee, a…

Who was it swept against my door j… With rustling robes like Autumn’s… Ah! would it were thy gown against… Only thy gown once more. Sometimes the snow, sometimes the…

Who dough shall knead as for God’… Shall fill it with celestial leave… And every loaf that she shall bake Be eaten of the Blest in heaven.

Ah! did you ever hear the Spring Calling you through the snow, Or hear the little blackbird sing Inside its egg-or go To that green land where grass beg…

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

O loveliest face, on which we look… Not without hope we may again beho… Somewhere, somehow, when we oursel… Where, Lucy, you have gone, this… That gathered beauty every changin…