“Tell me, where do ghosts in love Find their bridal veils?” “If you and I were ghosts in love We’d climb the cliffs of Mystery, Above the sea of Wails.

Too soon you wearied of our tears. And then you danced with spangled… Leading Belshazzar’s chattering c… A-tinkling through the shadowy str… With mead they came, with chants o…

The moon’s a little prairie-dog. He shivers through the night. He sits upon his hill and cries For fear that I will bite. The sun’s a broncho. He’s afraid

This is the song The spice-tree sings: “Hunger and fire, Hunger and fire, Sky-born Beauty—

Would that such hills and cities r… Such vistas of the actual earth an… As kindled Titian when his life b… Would that this latter Greek coul… Wisdom and splendor in our brushes…

Friends, I will not cease hoping… Such things I see, and some of th… Though now or streets are harsh an… Though our strong youths are strid… Friends, that sweet town, that won…

This poem is intended as a description of a sort of Blashfield mural painting on the sky. To be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle, yet in a slower, more orotund fashion. It is presum...

There dwelt a widow learned and de… Behind our hamlet on the eastern h… Three sons she had, who went to fi… They promised to return, but wande… The cities used them well, they wo…

Twelve snails went walking after n… They’d creep an inch or so, Then stop and bug their eyes And blow. Some folks . . . are . . . deadly…

[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…

Once I loved a spider When I was born a fly, A velvet-footed spider With a gown of rainbow-dye. She ate my wings and gloated.

Sometimes I dip my pen and find t… The salamanders flying forth I ca… It’s Etna, or Vesuvius, if those… And then ’tis but itself again, an… And so my blood grows cold. I say…

Two statesmen met by moonlight. Their ease was partly feigned. They glanced about the prairie. Their faces were constrained. In various ways aforetime

Would I might wake St. Francis i… Brother of birds and trees, God’s… Blinded with weeping for the sad a… Our wealth undone, all strict Fra… Come, let us chant the canticle ag…

She was taught desire in the stree… Not at the angels’ feet. By the good no word was said Of the worth of the bridal bed. The secret was learned from the vi…