Look you, I’ll go pray, My shame is crying, My soul is gray and faint, My faith is dying. Look you, I’ll go pray—

“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,

He coveted her portrait. He toiled as she grew gay. She loved to see him labor In that devoted way. And in the end it pleased her,

Let not our town be large, remembe… That little Athens was the Muses’… That Oxford rules the heart of Lo… That Florence gave the Renaissanc… Record it for the grandson of your…

I. A NEGRO SERMON:—SI… (To be read in your own variety… Legree’s big house was white and g… His cotton-fields were the best to… He had strong horses and opulent c…

Climbing the heights of Berkeley Nightly I watch the West. There lies new San Francisco, Sea-maid in purple dressed, Wearing a dancer’s girdle

Why do I see these empty boats, s… One haunted me the whole night lon… Returning always near the eaves, o… There it will wait me many weeks,… Each soul is haunted by a ship in…

I opened the ink-well and smoke fi… The smoke formed the giant frog-ca… His web feet left dreadful slime t… He had hammer and nails that he la… He sprawled on the table, claw-han…

I asked the old Negro, “What i… I. IN WHICH A RACIN… This is the order of the music of… First, from the far East comes bu… The crooning turns to a sunrise si…

Once, in the city of Kalamazoo, The gods went walking, two and two… With the friendly phoenix, the sta… The speaking pony and singing lion… For in Kalamazoo in a cottage apa…

THE Drunkards in the street are… one another, Heeding not the night-wind, great… gay,— Publicans and wantons—

An endless line of splendor, These troops with heaven for home, With creeds they go from Scotland… With incense go from Rome. These, in the name of Jesus,

Hungry for music with a desperate… I prowled abroad, I threaded thro… The evening crowd was clamoring an… Vulgar and pitiful—my heart bowed… Till I remembered duller hours ma…

Incense and Splendor haunt me as… Though my good works have been, al… Though I do naught, High Heaven… And future ages pass in tall revie… I see the years to come as armies…

Romance was always young. You come today Just eight years old With marvellous dark hair. Younger than Dante found you