Tired clerks, pale girls, street c… Boys, priests and harlots, drunkar… Each one the pleasant outer sunshi… They mingle in this stifling, loud… The gate clangs to– we stir– we sw…

Not on the lute, nor harp of many… Shall all men praise the Master o… Our life is brief, one saith, and… And skilled must be the laureates… Silent, O lips that utter foolish…

My songs should be as lilies fair, And roses made of crimson light, To lie amid the fragrant hair And on the breast of my delight. Such glory is for them too high;

Serene he stands, with mist serene… And draws a cloak of trees about h… The thunder roars but cannot break… And from his rugged face the tempe… He does not heed the angry lightni…

A few long-hoarded pennies in his… Behold him stand; A kilted Hedonist, perplexed and… The joy that once he had, The first delight of ownership is…

Whenever I walk to Suffern along… I go by a poor old farmhouse with… I suppose I’ve passed it a hundre… And look at the house, the tragic… I never have seen a haunted house,…

(For S.M.L.) I like to look at the blossomy tra… But it isn’t half so fine a sight… When it all was covered over with… And over the crisp and radiant roa…

(For Sara Teasdale) The lonely farm, the crowded stree… The palace and the slum, Give welcome to my silent feet As, bearing gifts, I come.

(For the Rev. James J. Daly, S.… Bright stars, yellow stars, flashi… Are you errant strands of Lady Ma… As she slits the cloudy veil and b… Do you fall across her cheeks and…

In a wood they call the Rouge Bou… There is a new-made grave to-day, Built by never a spade nor pick Yet covered with earth ten metres… There lie many fighting men,

The air is like a butterfly With frail blue wings. The happy earth looks at the sky And sings.

1 When you had played with lif… 2 And made it drink and lust… 3 You flung it back into God’… 4 And thought you did a nobl… 5 “Lo, I have lived and loved…

With shameless and incessant lust Thy tremulous hot hands are thrust Upon my body’s loveliness. O loathsome Age, thy foul caress Puts on my heart a deadly blight,

(For A. K. K.) What distant mountains thrill and… Beneath our Lady Folly’s tread? Why has she left us, wise in woe, Shrewd, practical, uncomforted?

I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth’s sweet flowing… A tree that looks at God all day,