He was leaning by a face, He was looking into eyes, And he knew a trysting-place, And he heard seductive sighs; But the face,

The curtains now are drawn, And the spindrift strikes the glas… Blown up the jagged pass By the surly salt sou’-west, And the sneering glare is gone

We two kept house, the Past and I… The Past and I; I tended while it hovered nigh, Leaving me never alone. It was a spectral housekeeping

AS evening shaped I found me on a… Which sight could scarce sustain: The black lean land, of featureles… Was like a tract in pain. “This scene, like my own life,” I…

In our heart of hearts believing Victory crown the just, And that braggarts must Surely bite the dust, Press we to the field ungrieving,

For F. E. H. I sometimes think as here I sit Of things I have done, Which seemed in doing not unfit To face the sun:

'TWAS a death-bed summons, and f… By the way of the Western Wall, s… On that winter night, and sought a… The home, by Fate, Of one I had long held dear.

I say, “She was as good as fair,”    When standing by her mound; “Such passing sweetness,” I decla…    "No longer treads the ground." I say, "What living Love can catc…

The moving sun-shapes on the spray… The sparkles where the brook was f… Pink faces, plightings, moonlit M… These were the things we wished wo… But they were going.

PALE beech and pine-tree blue, Set in one clay, Bough to bough cannot you Bide out your day? When the rains skim and skip,

   I saw a dead man’s finer part Shining within each faithful heart Of those bereft. Then said I: "T…    His immortality."    I looked there as the seasons w…

Between the folding sea-downs, In the gloom Of a wailful wintry nightfall, When the boom Of the ocean, like a hammering in…

By Mellstock Lodge and Avenue    Towards her door I went, And sunset on her window-panes    Reflected our intent. The creeper on the gable nigh

Last year I called this world of… The darkest thinkable, and questio… If my own land could heave its pul… So charged it seemed with circumst… The tragedy of things.

Beeny did not quiver, Juliot grew not gray, Thin Valency’s river Held its wonted way. Bos seemed not to utter