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...

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…

Sometimes we remember kisses, Remember the dear heart-leap when… Not always, but sometimes we remem… The kindness, the dumbness, the go… Of laughter and farewell.

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,

[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…

(To Eudora, after I had had ce… When Dragon-fly would fix his win… When Snail would patch his house, When moths have marred the overcoa… Of tender Mister Mouse,

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

Let not young souls be smothered o… They do quaint deeds and fully fla… It is the world’s one crime its ba… Its poor are ox-like, limp and lea… Not that they starve; but starve s…

A Song in Chinese Tapestries<… “How, how,” he said. “Friend Chan… “San Francisco sleeps as the dead… Ended license, lust and play: Why do you iron the night away?

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…

Ah, in the night, all music haunts… Is it for naught high Heaven crac… And the tremendous Amaranth desce… Sweet with the glory of ten thousa… Does it not mean my God would hav…

The moon is but a candle-glow That flickers thro’ the gloom: The starry space, a castle hall: And Earth, the children’s room, Where all night long the old trees…

[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…

[Concerning O. Henry (Sidney… “He could not forget that he was a… Is this Sir Philip Sidney, this… The darling of the glad and gaping… This is that dubious hero of the p…

The moon is but a golden skull, She mounts the heavens now, And Moon-Worms, mighty Moon-Worm… Are wreathed around her brow. The Moon-Worms are a doughty race…