Swags up! and yet I turn upon the… The yellow hill against a dapple s… With tufts and clumps of thorn, th… All through the wonder-pregnant ni… Until the silver stars were merged…

“Where shall we dwell?” say you.    Wandering winds reply: “In a temple with roof of blue    —Under the splendid sky.” Never a nobler home

When winter chills your aged bones As by the fire you sit and nod, You’ll hear a passing wind that mo… And think of one beneath the sod. You’ll feebly sleek your hair of g…

The Sphinx The spires of sand spring up at ev… That bids them dance and scatter a… He sits impassive, as the ages flo… And bear superbly the mirage of lu…

Hail to you, comrades, who have wo… Where the torn lines of battle run By tattered town and ruined mead, The honour that men give with prid… To those who, daffing death aside,

ABOVE us hangs the jewelled nigh… And how her restful cool caresses Make us forget the weary sight Of summer’s daily wildernesses! O aching toil and hope deferred,

Far down the reach a creeping mist Hung dim along the mountain side; On shadowed water, sleek and whist… I let the lazy shallop glide. The ripple scarcely cut the green

Nurse not your grief, nor make obs… When I have shed this flesh I lov… Nor slowly toll the dull heart-bru… Nor carve my name in customary sto… But let the generous earth reclaim…

OUR little queen of dreams, Our image of delight, Which whitens east and gleams And beckons from the height, Takes on her human form—is here in…

One very rough day on the Pride o… In the scuppers a poor little cabi… When the Bosun drew nigh with wra… And gave him a kick to remember hi… As he cried with a sneer: “What g…

Dearest, when I left your side, I stood a moment, hesitating, And plunged. The boiling tide Of darkness took me, and down I w… Swift as a bird with folded wing,

The heart is hard that cannot feel The bruising of a light appeal. The heart is deaf that cannot hear The splashing of a tiny tear. The heart is dumb that cannot say

Gone are the aching want, the unce… Mad flight and moaning over batter… And self-contempt whose secret pen… Out of the writhing soul her blood… But use has never taught me to for…

When I cast my slough of clay Put it quietly away. Let no bloom untimely fade Where my empty heart is laid. Ask no folk to crowd around