Almond, apple, and peach, Walnut, cherry, plum, Ash, chestnut, and beech, And lime and sycamore We have planted for days to come;

As in the dusty lane to fern or fl… Whose freshness in hot noon is dri… Sweet comes the dark with a full—f… And again breathes the new—washed,… So when the thronged world round m…

Sweetest of all delights are the v… Hours when breath is joy, for the… Summer awoke this morning, and ear… I rose refreshed, and gladly my ey… The entering beam of the sun that…

There are five men in the moonligh… That by their shadows stand; Three hobble humped on crutches, And two lack each a hand. Frogs somewhere near the roadside

When your head leans back slowly,… Muse earnest upon mine and starry… With depths unfathomed that still… And the words fail, and sight with… Whence comes that almost sadness,…

What shall I say to thee, my spir… Unaccountably conquered, where tho… Life, that, yesterday, the sun’s o… Darkened now, like a train of capt… Alas! ’tis an old trouble, vainly…

In a by—street, blocked with rubbl… And any—way—tumbled stones, Between the upstanding house—front… Naked and scorched bones, Chinese workmen were clearing

Look, as a mother bending o’er her… The sleeping boy that in her bosom… Gazes upon him in a trance of joy With earnest, infinitely tender ey… Lost in her deep love, and aware o…

In the high leaves of a walnut, On the very topmost boughs, A boy that climbed the branching b… His cradled limbs would house. On the airy bed that rocked him

Not yet a bough to bud may dare On the naked tree. Yet happy leaves in the bough prep… And could I see Far as a soaring bird, I know

There is a dimness fallen on old f… Our hearts are solemnized with dea… Than Time is bright with: we have… Or read of it in books; it is our… Eyes that have seen this wonder; l…

As my hand dropt a seed In the dibbled mould And my mind hurried onward To picture the miracle June should unfold,

When we are parted, the world ails… Life wants, the pulse of it falls… The wind stings, and the clouds ro… Wishes fly far as absent sails; And in the mind old mournful tales

Sleep, sleep on Mother’s breast, Child, my child! Close within my arms be pressed. O the world is vast and wild, Filled with hurt and war and cries…

Seven years have flown like seven… Like seven days of shining weather… Since we, forsaking single ways, Trod earth and faced the skies tog… The old is new, the new is old,