If hours be years the twain are bl… For now they solace swift desire By bonds of every bond the best, If hours be years. The twain are… Do eastern stars slope never west,

Along the way He walked that day, Watching shapes that reveries limn… And seldom he Had eyes to see

I said to Love, “It is not now as in old days When men adored thee and thy ways All else above; Named thee the Boy, the Bright, t…

(at a Cathedral Service) THAT from this bright believing… An outcast I should be, That faiths by which my comrades s… Seem fantasies to me,

While the far farewell music thins… And the broad bottoms rip the bear… All smalling slowly to the gray se… And each significant red smoke-sha… Keen sense of severance everywhere…

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…

O life with the sad seared face,    I weary of seeing thee, And thy draggled cloak, and thy ho…    And thy too-forced pleasantry!    I know what thou would’st tell

Sinking down by the gate I discer… And a blackbird tries over old air… But the moon is a sorry one, sad t… For this spot is unknown to that… Did my Heartmate but haunt here a…

The two executioners stalk along o… Bearing two axes with heavy heads… And a long limp two—handled saw to… And so they approach the proud tre… Jackets doffed they swing axes and…

Yes; your up—dated modern page— All flower—fresh, as it appears— Can claim a time-tried lineage, That reaches backward fifty years (Which, if but short for sleepy sq…

I went by the Druid stone That broods in the garden white an… And I stopped and looked at the s… That at some moments fall thereon From the tree hard by with a rhyth…

My spirit will not haunt the mound Above my breast, But travel, memory-possessed, To where my tremulous being found Life largest, best.

‘If ever I walk to church to wed, As other maidens use, And face the gathered eyes,’ she s… 'I’ll go in satin shoes!' She was as fair as early day

‘What are you still, still thinkin… He asked in vague surmise, ’That you stare at the wick unblin… With those great lost luminous eye… ‘O, I see a poor moth burning