When foxes eat the last gold grape… And the last white antelope is kil… I shall stop fighting and escape Into a little house I’ll build. But first I’ll shrink to fairy si…

Let us walk in the white snow In a soundless space; With footsteps quiet snd slow, At a tranquil pace, Under veils of white lace.

I cannot give you the Metropolita… I cannot give you heaven; Nor the nine Visigoth crowns in t… Nor happiness, even. But I can give you a very small p…

I shall die hidden in a hut In the middle of an alder wood, With the back door blind and bolte… And the front door locked for good… I shall lie folded like a saint,

Alembics turn to stranger things Strange things, but never while we… Shall magic turn this bronze that… To singing water in a sieve. The trumpets of Cæsar’s guard

Here’s a wonderful thing, A humming-bird’s wing In hammered gold, And store well chosen Of snowflakes frozen

Let us quarrel for these reasons: You detest the salt which seasons My speech . . . and all my lights… In the cold poison of your doubt. I love Shelley . . . you love Kea…

The icicles wreathing On trees in festoon Swing, swayed to our breathing: They’re made of the moon. She’s a pale, waxen taper;

I was always afraid of Somes’s Po… Not the little pond, by which the… Where laughing boys catch alewives… In brown, bright shallows; but the… There, where the frost makes all t…

Poets make pets of pretty, docile… I love smooth words, like gold-ena… Which circle slowly with a silken… And tender ones, like downy-feathr… Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed d…

Within my house of patterned horn I sleep in such a bed As men may keep before they’re bor… And after when they’re dead. Sticks and stones may break their…

The Hielan’ lassies are a’ for sp… The Lowlan’ lassies for prinkin’… My daddie w’u’d chide me, an’ so w… If I s’u’d bring hame sic a prink… Now haud your tongue, ye haverin’…

When the world turns completely up… You say we’ll emigrate to the Eas… Aboard a river-boat from Baltimor… We’ll live among wild peach trees,… You’ll wear a coonskin cap, and I…

Upbroke the sun In red-gold foam; Thus spoke the gun At the Soldier’s Home: “Whenever I hear

Say not of beauty she is good, Or aught but beautiful, Or sleek to doves’ wings of the wo… Her wild wings of a gull. Call her not wicked; that word’s t…