Ah, she was music in herself, A symphony of joyousness. She sang, she sang from finger tip… From every tremble of her dress. I saw sweet haunting harmony,

[Concerning Edgar Allan Poe]<… Who now will praise the Wizard in… With loyal songs, with humors grav… This Jingle-man, of strolling pla… Whom holy folk have hurried by in…

The North Star whispers: “You ar… Of those whose course no chance ca… You blunder, but are not undone, Your spirit-task is fixed and stra… ”When here you walk, a bloodless s…

Would that in body and spirit Sha… Visible emperor of the deeds of T… With Justice still the genius of… Giving each man his due, each pass… Impartial as the rain from Heaven…

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…

DEDICATED TO LUCY BATES (Being a reminiscence of certain p… Oh, cabaret dancer, I know… Whose eyes have not looked on the… I know a dancer, I…

Lady of Light, and our best woman… Stand now for peace, (though anger… Though naught but smoke and flame… Lady of Light, speak, though you… Though your voice may seem as a do…

Would I might wake in you the whi… Of Michelangelo, who hewed the st… And Night and Day revealed, whose… Could draw the face of God, the t… Whose genius smote like lightning…

An old actor at the Player’s Club told me that Edwin Booth first impersonated Hamlet when a barnstormer in California. There were few theatres, but the hotels were provided with crude a...

(What the Mendicant Said ) The moon’s a monk, unmated, Who walks his cell, the sky. His strength is that of heaven-vow… Who all life’s flames defy.

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.…

The Jazz-bird sings a barnyard so… A cock-a-doodle bray, A jingle-bells, a boiler works, A he-man’s roundelay. The eagle said, ‘My noisy son,

Would that by Hindu magic we beca… Dark monks of jeweled India long… Sitting at Prince Siddartha’s fee… The foolishness of gold and love a… The gospel of the Great Renunciat…

[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…

[A Poem for Aviators] How the Wings Were Made From many morning-glories That in an hour will fade, From many pansy buds