You are beautiful and faded Like an old opera tune Played upon a harpsichord; Or like the sun-flooded silks Of an eighteenth-century boudoir.

Over the shop where silk is sold Still the dragon kites are flying.

How is it that, being gone, you fi… And all the long nights are made g… No loneliness is this, nor misery, But great content that these shoul… Whereby the Fancy, dreaming as sh…

The snow whispers around me And my wooden clogs Leave holes behind me in the snow. But no one will pass this way Seeking my footsteps,

April had covered the hills With flickering yellows and reds, The sparkle and coolness of snow Was blown from the mountain beds. Across a deep-sunken stream

The wind is singing through the tr… A deep-voiced song of rushing cade… And crashing intervals. No summer… Is this, though hot July is at it… Gone is her gentler music; with de…

On winter nights beside the nurser… We read the fairy tale, while glow… Builded its pictures. There befor… We saw the vaulted hall of traceri… Uprear itself, the distant ceiling…

Dear Bessie, would my tired rhyme Had force to rise from apathy, And shaking off its lethargy Ring word-tones like a Christmas… But in my soul’s high belfry, chil…

Send sunflowers! With my turkey-bone whistle I am calling the birds To sing upon the sunflowers. For when the clouds hear them sing…

Great master! Boyish, sympathetic… Whose orbed and ripened genius lig… From life’s slim, twisted tendril… In crimson-sphered completeness; g… Of crystal portals through whose o…

I cut myself upon the thought of y… And yet I come back to it again a… A kind of fury makes me want to dr… From the dimness of the present And set you sharply above me in a…

The Poet took his walking-stick Of fine and polished ebony. Set in the close-grained wood Were quaint devices; Patterns in ambers,

Be patient with you? When the stooping sky Leans down upon the hills And tenderly, as one who soothing… An anguish, gathers earth to lie

My heart is tuned to sorrow, and t… Vibrate most readily to minor chor… Searching and sad; my mind is stuf… Which voice the passion and the ac… Illusions beating with their baffl…

GRASS-BLADES push up between… And catch the sun on their flat si… Shooting it back, Gold and emerald, Into the eyes of passers-by.