We said farewell, my youth and I, When all fair dreams were gone or… And Love’s red lips were cold and… When white blooms fell from tree-t… Our Austral winter’s way of snowi…

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

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 red sun on the lonely lands    Gazed, under clouds of rose, As one who under knitted hands    Takes one last look and goes. Then Pain, with her white sister…

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…

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…

Tjere are three mighty Voices th… Cry out to God to speed His Judg… The Voice of Devils, weary long a… Of dragging souls to Everlasting… The Voice of Saints who hear, whi…

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…

’TIS said that the Passion Flowe… With its figures of spear and swor… And hammer and nails, is a symbol Of the Woe of our Blessed Lord. So still in the Heart of Beauty

The Woman at the Washtub, She works till fall of night; With soap and suds and soda Her hands are wrinkled white. Her diamonds are the sparkles

Half waking and half dreaming, While starry lamps hung low I saw a vision splendid Upon the darkness glow. The Capital Australian,

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

What know we of the dead, who say… Or of the life in death below the… What of the mystic laws that rule… Grey realms beyond our poor imagin… Where death is life? The bird wit…

WHEN the moon a golden-pale Lustre on my casement flings, An enchanted nightingale In the haunted silence sings. Strange the song—its wondrous word…

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