The world, all busy round us here… Is still unchanged: but you are tw… The mind, victorious with the risi… Steps boldly and blithely through… On greener grass where brighter fl…

When my time is come to die, I would shun the decent gloom, Whispered word and weeping eye, Fitful hum of knowing fly Questing through the darkened room…

’Twas Jack-o’-Winter hailed it fi… But now more timid angels sing, For what dull ear can fail to hear Afar the fluting of the Spring? In all free spaces of the land

The doom is imminent of unholy hat… Hail to the light that glimmers wh… Are shaken by winds of dawning, an… Of hemlock swirl and scatter in th… Love, that has learned in faith to…

Hail and farewell to those who fou… Not laughingly adventurous, nor pa… With idiot hatred, nor to fill the… Of racial selfishness and patriot… But merely that their own souls ro…

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

Beside the path, on either hand, To keep the garden beds, The rusted iron pickets stand Thin shafts and pointed heads. And straight my spirit swooping go…

In the grey dawn I lie within my… Still as a frozen lake that pats n… With murmurous delight the o’erhan… Yet grim thoughts heave obscurely… For curtains I have earthen walls…

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…

Time, who with soft pale ashes vei… Of many a hope that flared against… To plant its heaven-storming banne… Has touched you with no desecratin… Your beauty wins a ripeness sweet…

The Blatant Beast saw meadows, ma… Sunlit and gently asway, and held… Till each green blade grew rigid i… And ruddied with a glorious morn’s… Thou hast suffered; nor till Free…

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,

Alone I sit in the dusk and see Surely the living faces, dear to m… Of comrades who have thrown All that they had, the fruit of al…

He, born of my girlhood, is dead,… Ere the breasts where his baby lip… We part. He was mine, he was here… My son who could trample on fear,… As I sat in the darkness, it seem…

How many years, how many years hav… Since in the cool dim parlour sat… Lawson and I and, lounging easily… The beaming indolent poet! Then i… Of labouring weary at the mill, we…