One by one they go Into the unknown dark— Star-lit brows of the brave, Voices that drew men’s souls. Rich is the land, O Death!

AH, sad are they who know not lov… But, far from passion’s tears and… Drift down a moonless sea, beyond The silvery coasts of fairy isles. And sadder they whose longing lips

Pillared arch and sculptured tower Of Ilium have had their hour; The dust of many a king is blown On the winds from zone to zone; Many a warrior sleeps unknown.

Enamored architect of airy rhyme, Build as thou wilt, heed not what… Good souls, but innocent of dreame… Will come, and marvel why thou was… Others, beholding how thy turrets…

When first the crocus thrusts its… Up through the still snow-drifted… And folded green things in dim woo… Their crinkled spears, a sudden tr… Into my veins and makes me kith an…

Yonder we see it from the steamer’… The haunted Mountain of the Lorel… The hanging crags sharp-cut agains… Clear as a sapphire without flaw o… ’Twas here the Siren lay in wait…

Pleasant it is to lie amid the gra… Under these shady locusts, half th… Watching the ships reflected on th… Topmast and shroud, as in a wizard… To note the swift and meagre swall…

A.D. 1670 AGLÄE, a widow. MURIEL, her unmarried sister. It happened once, in that brave la… For half the twelvemonth wrapt in…

Close on the edge of a midsummer d… In troubled dreams I went from la… Each seven-colored like the rainbo… Regions where never fancy’s foot h… Till then; yet all the strangeness…

Though I am native to this frozen… That half the twelvemonth torpid l… Though the cold azure arching over… And the Atlantic’s never-ending m… Are mine by heritage, I must have…

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL,… I held his letter in my hand, And even while I read The lightning flashed across the l… The word that he was dead.

To spring belongs the violet, and… Spice of the roses let the summer… Grant me this favor, Muse—all els… That I may not write verse when I… And yet I pray you, Muse, delay t…

“The Southern Transept, hardly kn… DEAN STANLEY Tread softly here; the sacredest o… Are those that hold your poets. K… Are facile accidents of Time and…

Those forms we fancy shadows, thos… That flash on lone morasses, the q… That smites us by the roadside are… Innumerable children. Unconfined By shroud or coffin, disembodied s…

The folk who lived in Shakespeare… And saw that gentle figure pass By London Bridge, his frequent wa… They little knew what man he was. The pointed beard, the courteous m…