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…

NEÆRA crowns me with a purple wr… That she with her own dainty hands… Gold-hearted blossoms and blue bud… Mingled with veined green leaves o… Then, bending down her bright head…

A child came singing through the d… A song so sweet that all men staye… Forgetting for a space their ancie… Of evil days and death and fortune… She sang of Winter dead and Sprin…

Bouquet said: “My floral ring The homage of a heart encloses, Whose thoughts to you go worshippi… In perfume from my blushing roses.… Bracelet said: “My rubies red,

CARE is a Poet fine: He works in shade or shine, And leaves—you know his sign!— No day without its line. He writes with iron pen

Give thou a gift to me From thy treasure-house, O sea! Said a red-lipped laughing girl While the summer yet was young; And the sea laughed back and flung

They leave us– artists, singers, a… When London calls aloud, Commanding to her Festival The gifted crowd. She sits beside the ship-choked T…

The Narrow, thorny path he trod. “Enter into My joy,” said God. The sad ascetic shook his head; “I’ve lost all taste for joy,” he…

By a black wharf I stood lately, When the night was at its noon; Keen, malicious stars were shining… And a wicked, white-faced moon. And I saw a stately vessel,

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

BY his side, whose days are past, Lay bow and quiver! And his eyes that stare aghast Close, with a shiver. God nor man from Death, at last,

When trees in Spring Are blossoming My lady wakes From dreams whose light Made dark days bright,

THE CURTAIN rose—the play beg… The limelight on the gay garbs sho… Yet carelessly I gazed upon The painted players, maid and man, As one with idle eyes who sees

IN Youth, when through our veins… The bright red stream of life, The Soul’s Voice is a trumpet-bla… That calls us to the strife. The Spirit spurns its prison-bars…

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…