THAT was a curlew calling overhe… That fine, clear whistle shaken fr… See! hovering o’er the swamp with… He sinks where at its edge in shin… The yellow violets dance as they u…

SOFTLY the flickering firelight… The warm glow flashes, sinks, depa… And shows me where the delicate re… In the tall, slender vase of cryst… The tempest beats without. The hu…

Round and round the garden rushed… Crying, “Autumn! Autumn!” shudder… Dry poppy-head and larkspur-spike… Together whispering, “Autumn! and… Tossed the sumach pennons, green a…

SOFTLY Death touched her, and s… Out of this glad, bright world she… Sweet as the apple-blossoms, when… The orchards flush, of summer grow… All that fresh, delicate beauty go…

WE sail toward evening’s lonely s… That trembles in the tender blue; One single cloud, a dusky bar, Burnt with dull carmine through an… Slow smouldering in the summer sky…

THE wild rose blooms for the sun… The tide ebbs slowly out; I hear in the dreamy afternoon The far-off fisher’s shout. The sand lies gray and the sea lea…

LOVE, art thou weary with the su… Fain would I be the cool and deli… About the whiteness of thy brow to… And softly, lightly stir thy cloud… Upon thy head doth the fierce wint…

THE steadfast planet spins throug… And into darkness, into light Swiftly it wheels its living face: “'T is day,” we say, or “It is ni… And we who cling and with it turn,

BACK from life’s coasts the ebbi… The singing tide that brimmed with… The torch of sunset and the blush… Seemed to have lost their glow for… There was such silence in the empt…

CRICKET, why wilt thou crush me… How can such light sound weigh so… Behold the grass is sere, the cold… The world grows empty —yes, I kno… The knell of joy I hear.

OH the fragrance of the air With the breathing of the flowers! Oh the isles of cloudlets fair, Shining after balmy showers! Oh the freshly rippling notes!

IN childhood’s season fair, On many a balmy, moonless summer n… While wheeled the lighthouse arms… Far through the humid air; How patient have I been,

AT her low quaint wheel she sits… Deftly drawing the long, light rol… Of carded wool through her fingers… By the fireside at the Isles of S… She is not pretty, she is not youn…

FAR off against the solemn sky Black lie the city’s towers; Before me rustles, dim and dry, My field of golden flowers. How thin the wind’s cool whisper d…

THE swallow twitters about the ea… Blithely she sings, and sweet and… Around her climb the woodbine leav… In a golden atmosphere. The summer wind sways leaf and spr…