The moth and beetle wing about The garden ways of other days; Above the hills, a fiery shout Of gold, the day dies slowly out, Like some wild blast a huntsman bl…

Roses, brier on brier, Like a hedge of fire, Walled it from the world and rolle… Crimson ‘round it; manifold Blossoms, ’mid which once of old

Its rotting fence one scarcely see… Through sumac and wild blackberrie… Thick elder and the bramble-rose, Big ox-eyed daisies where the bees Hang droning in repose.

Out in Oldham County once Met a boy who showed me how He could milk an old red cow. Yes; he was n’t any dunce. Put me on an old-gray mare;

O heart,-that beat the bird’s blit… The blithe bird’s strain, and unde… The song it sang to leaf and bud,- What dost thou in the wood? O soul,-that kept the brook’s glad…

When I go forth to greet the glad… Just at the time of opening apple-… When brooks are laughing, winds ar… On babbling hillsides or in warbli… There is an unseen presence that e…

A mile of moonlight and the whispe… A mile of shadow and the odorous l… One large, white star above the so… Like one sweet wish: and, laughter… Wild-roses wistful in a web of rai…

Once I gave a 'poppa-show’: And I had the greatest fun! Every boy and girl I know That is, nearly every one, Came to see it: I just put

The dogs made way for him and snar… And little children to their paren… Big-eyed with fear, when, gruff of… Bent-backed he passed who had the… In old drab coat and trousers, sho…

She passed the thorn-trees, whose… Their spider-shadows round her; an… Beneath the ashen moon, was full o… And mouthed and mumbled to the sic… Like some starved hag who sees her…

There are three things of Earth That help us more Than those of heavenly birth That all implore Than Love or Faith or Hope,

There is a place hung o’er of summ… And dreamy skies wherein the gray… Where water flows, within whose la… Like silvery prisms where the sunb… The minnows twinkle; where the bel…

Those were the days of doubt. How… It all comes back! This ribbon, s… Brings that far past so very near I lose my own identity, And seem two beings: one that’s he…

Where are they, that song and tale Tell of? lands our childhood knew? Sea-locked Faerylands that trail Morning summits, dim with dew, Crimson o’er a crimson sail.

First I asked the honeybee, Busy in the balmy bowers; Saying, ‘Sweetheart, tell it me: Have you seen her, honeybee? She is cousin to the flowers