There is naught in the pathless re… Of the pale, blue sky above, There is naught that the stars tel… As over the heavens they rove; That I have not felt, or have not…

O why are there eyes like these, That sparkle and dapple and tease, So wide with the morning, so deep… Dancing and gleaming in passioned… O why are there eyes like these?

I’m a-waiting and a-watching for t… For the sun that’s ever shining, f… For the light that casts no shadow… For the rose that’s ever blooming… I’m a-waiting and a watching for t…

On the dusty earth-drum Beats the falling rain; Now a whispered murmur, Now a louder strain. Slender, silvery drumsticks,

Why do men smile when I speak, And call my speech The whimperings of a babe That cries but knows not what it w… Is it because I am black?

On such a day as this I think, On such a day as this, When earth and sky and nature’s wh… Are clad in April’s bliss; And balmy zephyrs gently waft

The slender moon in its silvery sh… The golden stars with the blue bet… Of a dreamy, summer sky; And still the night winds sigh. With the silvery moon to whisper t…

As I lie in bed, Flat on my back; There passes across my ceiling An endless panaroma of things— Quick steps of gay-voiced children…

Old November, sere and brown, Clothes the country, haunts the to… Sheds its cloak of withered leaves… Brings its sighing, soughing breez… Prophet of the dying year,

Brother, come! And let us go unto our God. And when we stand before Him I shall say— “Lord, I do not hate,

Old Moloch walks the way tonight On Flander’s poppied field, Where foe meets foe in steel and m… And never one shall yield. Old Moloch of the fiery shrine,

Old memories come trooping down The vistas of the years; In blue-girt robes of pleasure cla… Or garbed in tears. Down from the days when hope was y…

Out of the silence I come to you, Bringing a love Free as the dew. I come and sing

I would not tarry if I could be g… Adown the path where calls my eage… That fate which knows naught but t… Holds me within its grasp, a helpl… And checks my steps when I would…

The little child crosses the stree… Why does she wave to me? What sees she in my wasted form To hail so joyously? Her olive face and curly hair