But yesterday!... O blooms of May, And summer roses—Where-away? O stars above, And lips of love

There! little girl; don’t cry! They have broken your doll, I kno… And your tea-set blue, And your play-house, too, Are things of the long ago;

O love is like an untamed steed!— So hot of heart and wild of speed, And with fierce freedom so in love… The desert is not vast enough, With all its leagues of glimmering…

Queenly month of indolent repose! I drink thy breath in sips of rare… As in thy downy lap of clover-bloo… I nestle like a drowsy child and d… The lazy hours away. The zephyr t…

No song is mine of Arab steed— My courser is of nobler blood, And cleaner limb and fleeter speed… And greater strength and hardihood Than ever cantered wild and free

The Hired Man Talks There’s old man Willards; an’ his… An’ Marg’et—S’repty’s sister—; an… There’s me—an’ I’m the hired man; An’ Tomps McClure, you better ye…

Owned a pair o’ skates onc’t.—Tra… Fer ‘em,—stropped ’em on and waded Up and down the crick, a-waitin’ Tel she’d freeze up fit fer skatin… Mildest winter I remember—

A strange life—strangely passed! We may not read the soul When God has folded up the scroll In death at last. We may not—dare not say of one

Iry an’ Billy an’ Jo!— Iry an’ Billy’s _the boys_, An’ _Jo’s_ their _dog_, you know,… Their pictures took all in a row. Bet they kin kick up a noise—

‘How did you rest, last night?’— I’ve heard my gran’pap say Them words a thousand times—that’s… Jes them words thataway! As punctchul-like as morning dast

So lone I stood, the very trees s… In conference with themselves.—In… Seemed everything;—the summer sple… The sight,—magnificence! A babe’s life might not lighter fa…

Ah, friend of mine, how goes it, Since you’ve taken you a mate?— Your smile, though, plainly shows… Is a very happy state! Dan Cupid’s necromancy!

DAWN As though a gipsy maiden with dim… Sat crooning by the roadside of th… So, Autumn, in thy strangeness, t… To read dark fortunes for us from…

The midnight is not more bewilderi… To her drowsed eyes, than to her e… Of dim, sweet singing voices, inte… With purl of flute and subtle twan… Strained through the lattice, wher…

DEAD! my wayward boy—_my own_— Not _the Law’s!_ but _mine_—the g… God’s free gift to me alone, Sanctified by motherhood. ‘Bad,’ you say: Well, who is not?