At the crowded gangway they kissed… He had half a mind to scold her. An officer’s mother and not keep d… The epaulet on his shoulder. He had forgotten mother and fame,

1899 Who would trust England, let him… To Nelson, columned o’er Trafalga… Her hieroglyph of duty, written wh… The roar of traffic hushes to the…

‘MOTHER! Mother!’ he called as… In the horror there Of a bursting shell That strewed red flesh on the air. Far away over sea and land:

THE darkest wood that the north-w… Hath its balsamum and its silverli… Its violet interspace. The bitterest sea that the wan moo… Hath its hushful archipelagoes,

GOD help him! Ay, and let us hel… Help him with our one hundred mill… Molded to loyalty, so that he find… The faith of the Republic pulsing… All clashes of opinion, faith stil…

‘The priests distributed various c… —The Book of the Bee, ch. XXXI… THE chosen maidens, Weavers of t… Kneeling in crescent, from the Hi… Their wisps of silk in slender han…

Two centuries’ winter storms have… Deep-voiced, the winds, swift wing… But though the north-east gale unl… The sturdy light-house sheds its b… And still when cold and fear are p…

FAR road for words that rush, Arrowing space, Swifter than meteors flush Star-road in race. Wireless! Tireless, leaping the w…

SUMMER fervors slacken; Sumac torches dim; There’s bronze upon the bracken; September has a whim For carmine, pearl and amber

I. In South Africa Over the lonesome African plain The stars look down, like eyes of… A bumping ride across gullies and… Now a grumble and now a jest,

Across New England snows Flash visions from afar, Lithe gipsies on their toes Dancing to gay guitar; With gesture fierce, bizarre,

WHAT sudden voice peals to the C… To Finland and the bitter Caspian… To those Siberian prisons whither… Shall seek as to a shrine, that mu… Divine word Liberty? Impetuous

WE bore them their own wild heath… And ash-boughs jeweled red, There where they sleep together, Greatest of Norway’s dead. More than the hush of churches

THE poor earth was so winter-marr… Harried by storm so long, It seemed no spring could mend her… No tardy sunshine render Atonement for such wrong.

THE cup, the ruby cup Whence anguish drips, At last is lifted up Against our lips. Though we, till seas run dry,