NOW the stars have faded In the purple chill, Lo, the sun is kindling On the eastern hill. Tree by tree the forest

AH, Pierrot, Where is thy Columbine? What vandal could untwine That gay rose-rope of thine, And spill thy joy like wine,

To T. B. M. IN the crowd that thronged the pi… For new ventures in seafaring, whe… And we swung out in the current, w… ‘Midst the waving caps and kisses,…

IN the wondrous star-sown night, In the first sweet warmth of sprin… I lie awake and listen To hear the glad earth sing. I hear the brook in the wood

In a still room at hush of dawn, My Love and I lay side by side And heard the roaming forest wind Stir in the paling autumn-tide. I watched her earth-brown eyes gro…

OH, well the world is dreaming Under the April moon, Her soul in love with beauty, Her senses all a-swoon! Pure hangs the silver crescent

Harvard, 1914 SIR, friends, and scholars, we ar… A high occasion. Our New England… All her unrivalled beauty as of ol… And June, with scent of bayberry…

IN the Garden of Eden, planted b… There were goodly trees in the spr… Trees of beauty and height and gra… To stand in splendor before His f… Apple and hickory, ash and pear,

THE hilltop trees are bowing Under the coming of storm. The low gray clouds are trailing Like squadrons that sweep and form… With their ammunition of rain.

ONCE I walked the world enchante… Through the scented woods of sprin… Hand in hand with Love, in raptur… Just to hear a bluebird sing. Now the lonely winds of autumn

Make me over, Mother April, When the sap beings to stir! When thy flowery hand delivers All the mountain-prisoned rivers, And thy great heart beats and quiv…

I HEAR you, Brother, I hear you… Down in the alder swamp, Springing your woodland whistle To herald the April pomp! First of the moving vanguard,

Said a traveller by the way Pausing, "What hast thou to say, Flower by the dusty road, That would ease a mortal’s load?" Traveller, hearken unto me!

I SEE the great blue heron Rising among the reeds And floating down the wind, Like a gliding sail With the set of the stream.

LET me have a scarlet maple For the grave-tree at my head, With the quiet sun behind it, In the years when I am dead. Let me have it for a signal,