The Muse is stern unto her favour… Giving to some the keys of all the… Of the green earth, but holding ev… Back from their life; Bidding them feed on hope,

Set within a desert lone, Circled by an arid sea, Stands a figure carved in stone, Where a fountain used to be. Two abraded, pleading hands

Gather the leaves from the forest And blow them over the world, The wind of winter follows The wind of autumn furled. Only the beech tree cherishes

Tug at the net, Haul at the net, Strip off the quivering fish; Hid in the mist The winds whist,

This is not June,—by Autumn’s str… Thou hast been ambushed in the chi… Upon thy fragile crest virginal fa… The rime has clustered in a diadem… The early frost

Now, in the moonrise, from a wintr… The frost has come to charm with e… This quiet room; to draw with symb… Faces and forms in fairest charact… Upon the casement; all the thought…

Here in Samarcand they offer emer… Pure as frozen drops of sea-water, Rubies, pale as dew-ponds stained… Where the fairies fought for a kin… In the elfin upland.

Tossed like a falcon from the hunt… A sweeping plunge, a sudden shatte… And thou hast dared, with a long s… The elastic stairway to the rising… Peril below thee and above, peril

O ship incoming from the sea With all your cloudy tower of sail… Dashing the water to the lee, And leaning grandly to the gale, The sunset pageant in the west

An angel burdened with self-pity Came out of heaven to a modern cit… He saw a beggar on the street, Where the tides of traffic meet. A pair of brass-bound hickory pegs

(Aetat Six) Now every night we light the grate And I sit up till _really_ late; My Father sits upon the right, My Mother on the left, and I

At Bethlehem upon the hill, The day was done, the night was ni… The dusk was deep and had its will… The stars were very small and stil… Like unblown tapers, faint and hig…

The sunset colours mingle in the s… And over all the Umbrian valleys… Trevi is touched with wonder, and… Finds high Perugia crimson with r… Spello is bright;

O if love were had for asking, In the markets of the town, Hardly a lass would think to wear A fine silken gown: But love is had by grieving

Now the November skies, And the clouds that are thin and g… That drop with the wind away; A flood of sunlight rolls, In a tide of shallow light,