FRAGRANT are the cedar-boughs… Feasting-halls where waxwings flit… But O the pine, the questing pine… To search the secret of the sun an… Rueful hemlocks, gaunt and old, wi…

THE leaves and tassels of the oak Were golden-green with May, Pavilion whence forever broke Some angel roundelay. A carol like a glory came

Of all the happy and holy times That fill the steeples with merry… And warm our hearts in the coldest… ’Twas Christmas eve, as I live by… One by one had the drowsy oaks

COLOSSAL orb of space, Sparkling with diamond Of countless star on star, All whirling with wild grace In their enwoven dance

SHAKERAGS, cripples, gaunt and… Prison-broken hosts on hosts, Torture-scarred and dungeon-crazed… Down the convict road they pour, More and more and myriads more,

BESIDE the country road with tr… Wild carrot lifts its circles of w… From vines whose interwoven branch… The old stone walls, come pungent… The sumach torches burn; the hardh…

AT last, at last the Crescent Falls back before the Cross. Great spirits, incandescent With longing and with loss, Gleam from the clouds, crusaders

[sung to tune: “All Saints New”] Our fathers, in the years grown di… A holy dwelling-place for Him, th… They wrought His house of faith a… A precious temple builded fair on…

WHILE we keep our Poet’s Tercen… Every school and city with its emu… Antic or solemnity, what tremulous Laughter on the air! O Puck peren… Leave us clumsy mortals to our dro…

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 battle will not cease Till once again on those white ste… O heaven-descended Twins, Before humanity’s bewildered host. Our javelins

OH, what is Christ, that we shoul… Wasted Armenia, in her utter woe, Dies in the mocking desert, callin… Hyænas tear her children limb from… The clouds, soft dimpled once with…

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

WHAT song is in the sap of this… That to the north-star faces, Ravened each June by caterpillar… Till all its leaves are laces, Poor shreds whose very shadow grie…

THE sunset, woven of soft lights And tender colors, lingers late, As looking back on all day’s drear… Compassionate; —The foolish day of hopes so high,