What do they know of youth, who st… They but the singers of a golden s… Who may not guess its worth or won… Like largesse to the throng. We only,—young no longer,—old so l…

She came not into the Presence as… Crowned, white—robed and adoring,… She stood as a straight young sold… Who asks a boon of his captain in… She said: ‘Now have I stayed too…

She put her wedding-gown away As tenderly as one might close, With kissing lips and finger-tips, The petals of a rose Still held for the Belovèd’s sake…

They are ashamed who leave so soon The Inn of Grief—who thought to s… Through many a faithful sun and mo… Yet tarry but a day. Shame-faced I watch them pay the…

The burden that I bear would be n… Should I cry out against it; thou… The weary day with sound of my dis… It were my burden still. The burden that I bear may be no…

The kindliest thing God ever made… His hand of very healing laid Upon a fevered world, is shade. His glorious company of trees Throw out their mantles, and on th…

My love it should be silent, being… And being very peaceful should be… Still as the utmost depths of ocea… Serenely silent as some mighty hil… Yet is my love so great it needs m…

Below them in the twilight the qui… And warm within its holding, the o… But here within the open fields th… And, hand in hand, across them the… Below them in the village are peac…

I said I will go back again where… Were glad together. But my dear,… Where are the roses we were wont t… The songs we used to hear? I said the hearth-flame that once…

They do not know the awful tears w… The tender treasures that we keep… They could not be so still—our qui… In knowing this. They do not know what time we turn…

To you he gave his laughter and hi… His words that of all words were m…    His glad, mad moments when the… And his wild song outshrilled the…    For you that memory, but happie…

White rose-leaves in my hands, I toss you all away; The winds shall blow you through t… To seek my wedding day. Or East you go, or West you go

So quietly I seem to sit apart; I think she does not know or guess… How dear this certain hour to my o… When in our quiet street the shado… She leans and listens at the littl…

High above his happy head Little leaves of Spring were spre… And adown the dewy lawn Soft as moss the young green grass Wooed his footsteps, and the dawn

My life has been like a bee that r… Through a scented garden close, And ’tis I who have kept the hone… The hoarded sweetness and scent th… For all I forget the rose.