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…

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…

My lady in her white silk shawl Is like a lily dim, Within the twilight of the room Enthroned and kind and prim. My lady! Pale gold is her hair.

We are happy all the time Even when we fight: Sweet briars of the stairways, Gay fairies of the grime; We, who are playing to-night.…

’Tis not too late to build our you… Cleaner than Holland, courtlier t… Devout like early Rome, with hear… Hearths that will recreate the bre…

To be intoned, all but the two… Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. Here lies a kitten good, who kept A kitten’s proper place. He stole no pantry eatables,

Oh, once I walked a garden In dreams. ’Twas yellow grass. And many orange-trees grew there In sand as white as glass. The curving, wide wall-border

The old man had his box and wheel For grinding knives and shears. No doubt his bell in village stree… Was joy to children’s ears. And I bethought me of my youth

[To be sung to the tune of The… [Bass drum beaten loudly.] Booth led boldly with his big bass… (Are you washed in the blood of th… The Saints smiled gravely and the…

The moon’s a brass-hooped water-ke… A wondrous water-feast. If I could climb the ridge and dr… And give drink to my beast; If I could drain that keg, the fl…

Tolstoi is plowing yet. When the… High in the sky shines a field as… There he toils for the Kingdom of… Ah, he is taller than clouds of th… Only the congress of planets is ov…

(To Edgar Lee Masters, with g… Here upon the prarie Is our ancestral hall. Agate is the dome, Cornelian the wall.

When Bryan speaks, the town’s a h… From miles around, the autos drive… The sparrow chirps. The rooster c… The place is kicking and alive. When Bryan speaks, the bunting gl…

Girl with the burning golden eyes, And red-bird song, and snowy throa… I bring you gold and silver moons And diamond stars, and mists that… I bring you moons and snowy clouds…

A Fantasy, dedicated to the little poet Alice Oliver Henderson, ten years old. The Fantasy shows how tiger-hearts are the cause of war in all ages. It shows how the mammoth forces ma...