The night is young yet; an enchan… In early summer: calm and darkly b… I love the Night, and every littl… She brings, to soothe the sleep of… Hearst thou the Voices? Sough! S…

The wan light of a stormy dawn Gleamed on a tossing ship: It was the In Memoriam Upon a mourning trip. Wild waves were on the windward bo…

Choose who will the wiser part— I have held her heart to heart; And have felt her heart-strings st… And her soul’s still singing heard For one golden-haloed hour

ALL silent is the room, There is no stir of breath, Save mine, as in the gloom I sit alone with Death. Short life it had, the sweet,

Her gown was simple woven wool, But, in repayment, Her body sweet made beautiful The simplest raiment: For all its fine, melodious curves

Unto the Person kind there came A young girl bearing her fruit of… She fell and it had to pay the pri… Innocent Lamb of Sacrifice! Lovingly then the Person smiled,

If I were young as you, Sixteen, And you were old as I, I would not be as I have been, You would not be so shy— We should not watch with careless…

Last night, as one who hears a tra… I woke from dreams, half-laughing,… Methought that I had journeyed in… And stood upon the Planet of the… And found thereon a folk who praye…

O DAY, the crown and crest of al… Thou comest not to us amid the sno… But midmost of the reign of the re… Our hearts have not yet lost the a… That filled our fathers’ simple he…

Within his office, smiling. Sat JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN, But all the screws of Birmingham Were working in his brain. The heart within his bosom

THE old dead flowers of bygone su… The old sweet songs that are no mo… The rose-red dawns that were welco… When you and I and the world were… Are lost, O love, to the light fo…

When the sap runs up the tree, And the vine runs o’er the wall, When the blossom draws the bee, From the forest comes a call, Wild, and clear, and sweet, and st…

DAY goeth bold in cloth of gold, A royal bridegroom he; But Night in jewelled purple walk… A Queen of Mystery. Day filleth up his loving-cup

What shall a man remember In days when he is old, And Life is a dying ember, And Fame a story told? Power—that came to leave him?

These are the flowers of sleep That nod in the heavy noon, Ere the brown shades eastward cree… To a drowsy and dreamful tune— These are the flowers of sleep.