Lydia is gone this many a year, Yet when the lilacs stir, In the old gardens far or near, The house is full of her. They climb the twisted chamber sta…

A long the thousand roads of Fran… Now there, and here, swift as a gl… A cloud, a mist blown down the sky… Good Joan of Arc goes riding by. In Domremy at candlelight,

This is the house where I was bre… The wind blows through it without… The wind bitten by the roadside mi… Here brake I loaf, here climbed t… The fuchsia on the window sill;

Wild rockets blew along the lane; The tall white gentians too were t… The mullein stalks were brave agai… Of blossoms was the bramble bare; And toward the pasture bars below

Brother of mine, good monk with co… Walled from that world which thou… And pacing thy green close beyond… I send my heart to thee. Down gust-sweet walks, bordered by…

Along the pastoral ways I go, To get the healing of the trees, The ghostly news the hedges know; To hive me honey like the bees, Against the time of snow.

A Colonial Custom Bathsheba came out to the sun, Out to our wallèd cherry-trees; The tears adown her cheek did run, Bathsheba standing in the sun,

The spicewood burns along the gray… In moist unchimneyed places, in a… That whips it all before, and all… Into one thick, rude flame, now lo… It is the first, the homeliest thi…

The little Jesus came to town; The wind blew up, the wind blew do… Out in the street the wind was bol… Now who would house Him from the… Then opened wide a stable door,

Keep back the one word more, Nor give of your whole store; For, it may be, in Art’s sole hou… Lacking that word, you shall be po…

Dark, thinned, beside the wall of… The box dripped in the air; Its odor through my house was blow… Into the chamber there. Remote and yet distinct the scent,

OH, the littles that remain! Scent of mint out in the lane; Flare of window; sound of bees;— These, but these. Three times sitting down to bread;

To the sweet memory of Sidney Lan… The old house stands deserted, gra… With sharpened gables high in air, And deep-set lattices, all gay With massive arch and framework ra…

I am too near, too clear a thing f… A flower of mullein in a crack of… The villagers half see, or not at… Part of the weather, like the wind… You love to pluck the different, a…

An English lad, who, reading in a… A ponderous, leathern thing set on… Saw the broad violet of the Egean… Lap at his feet as it were village… Wide was the east; the gusts of mo…