Rocks, trees and rocks; and down a… The murmuring ooze and trickle of… Through bushes, where the mountain… A gleaming cairngorm where the sha… And one wild road winds like a saf…

They who take courage from their o… Are victors too, no matter how muc…

THE gentian and the bluebell so Can change my calendar, I know not how the year may go, Or what the seasons are: The months, in some mysterious wis…

Wild son of Heav’n, with laughter… Now East, now West, now North, n… Bearing in one harsh hand dark dea… And in the other, sunshine and a r…

Through ferns and moss the path wo… A hollow where the touchmenots Swung horns of honey filled with d… And where like foot-prints violets… And bluets made sweet sapphire blo…

Passion? not hers! who held me wit… One hand among the deep curls of h… I drank the girlhood of her gaze w… She never sighed, nor gave me kiss… So have I seen a clear October po…

Here is a tale for any man or woma… A fool sought Death; and braved h… Among the graves. At last he hear… And something passed him, monstrou… And by a tomb, that reared a broke…

COME in, old Ghost of all that u… You find me old, And love grown cold, And fortune fled to younger compan… Departed, as the glory of the day,

When, one by one, the stars have t… Eve’s shadowy hues of violet, rose… As on a pansy-bloom the limpid dew Orbs its bright beads; and, one by… Of insects wakes on nodding bush a…

O Dark-Eyed goddess of the marble… Whose look is silence and whose to… Who walkest lonely through the wor… Who sittest lonely with Life’s bl… Who in the hollow hours of night’s…

Beautiful-bosomed, O Night, in th… Move with majesty onward! soaring,… As a singer may soar the notes of… The stars and the moon Through the clerestories high of t…

All desolate she sate her down Upon the marble of the temple’s st… You would have thought her, with h… Flushed cheeks and hazel hair, A dryad dreaming there.

There is nothing at all to do to-d… I can’t go out and run and play; For it’s raining and snowing and s… And Old Man Winter he is to blam… And I just sit here and think it…

There is a poetry that speaks Through common things: the grassho… That in the hot weeds creaks and c… Says all of summer to my ear: And in the cricket’s cry I hear

Not into these dark cities, These sordid marts and streets, That the sun in his rising pities, And the moon with sorrow greets, Does she, with her dreams and flow…