You too, my mother, read my rhymes For love of unforgotten times, And you may chance to hear once mo… The little feet along the floor.

WHAT is the face, the fairest fa… Till Care the graver —Care with c… Etches content thereon and makes i… Or constancy, and love, and makes…

Some day soon this rhyming volume,… Little Louis Sanchez, will be giv… Then you shall discover, that your… By the English printers, long bef… In the great and busy city where t…

Who comes to—night? We open the d… Who comes? My bursting walls, can… The presences that now together th… Your narrow entry, as with flowers… As with the air of life, the breat…

The tropics vanish, and meseems th… From Halkerside, from topmost All… Or steep Caerketton, dreaming gaz… Far set in fields and woods, the t… Spring gallant from the shallows o…

SINCE years ago for evermore My cedar ship I drew to shore; And to the road and riverbed And the green, nodding reeds, I s… Mine ignorant and last farewell:

Do you remember —can we e’er forge… How, in the coiled-perplexities of… In our wild climate, in our scowli… We gloomed and shivered, sorrowed,… The belching winter wind, the miss…

It is not yours, O mother, to com… Not, mother, yours to weep, Though nevermore your son again Shall to your bosom creep, Though nevermore again you watch y…

I NOW, O friend, whom noiselessl… Settle around, and whose small cha… Dusk as the sloping window takes i… * * * * * The kindly hill, as to complete ou…

Not undelightful, friend, our rust… To grateful hearts; for by especia… Deep nested in the hill’s enormous… With its own ring of walls and gro… Sits, in deep shelter, our small c…

IT blows a snowing gale in the wi… The boats are on the sea and the c… The needle of the vane, it is veer… A flash of sun is on the veering o… Autumn leaves and rain,

STILL I love to rhyme, and stil… Far from the commoner way; Old—time trills and falls by the b… Dreaming to—morrow to—day. Come here, come, revive me, Sun—G…

The lights from the parlour and ki… Through the blinds and the windows… And high overhead and all moving a… There were thousands of millions o… There ne’er were such thousands of…

She rested by the Broken Brook, She drank of Weary Well, She moved beyond my lingering look… Ah, whither none can tell! She came, she went. In other lan…

A naked house, a naked moor, A shivering pool before the door, A garden bare of flowers and fruit And poplars at the garden foot; Such is the place that I live in,