An Apple caused man’s fall, as so… But that old Snake, malevolently… A deadlier snare set when he left… His tongue of honey and mesmeric e…

IN my garden, O Beloved! Many pleasant trees are growing, Peach, and apricot, and apple, Myrtle, lilac, and laburnum. Fair are they, but midst them lone…

O THE Queen may keep her golden Crown and sceptre of command! I would give them both twice over To be King of Babyland. Sure, it is a wondrous country

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

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…

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

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

And after all—and after all,    Our passionate prayers, and sig… Is life a reckless carnival?    And are they lost, our golden y… Ah, no; ah, no; for, long ago,

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…

CAMILLA calls me heartless: hen… Logic in love has little part. How can I otherwise than heartles… Seeing Camilla has my heart?

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…

GOOD fellows are laughing and dr… (To-night no heart should grieve), But I am of old days thinking, Alone, on Christmas Eve. Old memories fast are springing

I HAVE been dreaming all a summe… Of rare and dainty poems I would… Love-lyrics delicate as lilac-scen… Soft idylls woven of wind, and flo… And songs and sonnets carven in fi…

BY the road, near her father’s dw… There groweth a hawthorn tree: Its blossoms are fair and fragrant As the love that I cast from me. It is all a-bloom this morning

THE DAYS go by—the days go by, Sadly and wearily to die: Each with its burden of small care… Each with its sad gift of gray hai… For those who sit, like me, and si…