Once I loved a fairy, Queen Mab it was. Her voice Was like a little Fountain That bids the birds rejoice. Her face was wise and solemn,

MOVING-PICTURE ACTRESS (On hearing she was leaving the… Mary Pickford, doll divine, Year by year, and every day At the movmg-picture play,

(A Negro Sermon.) Once, in a night as black as ink, She drove him out when he would no… Round the house there were men in… Asleep in rows by the Gaza gate.

[In memory of E. S. Frazee, R… Into the acres of the newborn stat… He poured his strength, and plowed… And, when the traders followed him… Towering above their furtive souls…

The foolish queen of fairyland From her milk-white throne in a li… Gave command to her cricket-band To play for her when the dew-drops… But the cold dew spoiled their ins…

Even the shrewd and bitter, Gnarled by the old world’s greed, Cherished the stranger softly Seeing his utter need. Shelter and patient hearing,

[This is the hymn to Eleanor,… This is a song to the white-armed… Cold in the breast as the frost-wr… Whose feet are slow on the hills o… Whose round mouth rules by whisper…

I was but a half-grown boy, You were a girl-child slight. Ah, how weary you were! You had led in the bullock-fight..… We slew the bullock at length

[Written to the Most Beautiful… MAnd never have I been in love wi… Always aspiring to be set in tune With one who is invisible, inhuman… O laughing girl, cold TRUTH has…

The Moon’s the North Wind’s cook… He bites it, day by day, Until there’s but a rim of scraps That crumble all away. The South Wind is a baker.

St. Francis, Buddha, Tolstoi, an… Friends, if you four, as pilgrims,… Returned, the hate of earth once m… And walked upon the water and the… If you, with words celestial, stop…

“If I could set the moon upon This table,” said my friend, “Among the standard poets And brouchures without end, And noble prints of old Japan,

O you who lose the art of hope, Whose temples seem to shrine a lie… Whose sidewalks are but stones of… Who weep that Liberty must die, Turn to the little prairie towns,

O dandelion, rich and haughty, King of village flowers! Each day is coronation time, You have no humble hours. I like to see you bring a troop

Would I might rouse the Lincoln i… That which is gendered in the wild… From lonely prairies and God’s te… Imperial soul, star of a weedy str… Born where the ghosts of buffaloes…