Between the death of day and birth… By War’s red light, I met with one in trailing sorrows… Whose features had The look of Him who died to set m…

There is a place (I know it well) Where beech trees crowd into a glo… And where a twinkling woodland wel… Flings from a rock a rippling plum… And, like a Faun beneath a spell,

Was it a dream, Or a whim of the night? Or did they gleam Upon my sight An instant there in the wan moonli…

The waterfall, deep in the wood, Talked drowsily with solitude, A soft, insistent sound of foam, That filled with sleep the forest’… Where, like some dream of dusk, sh…

Her heart is still and leaps no mo… With holy passion when the breeze, Her whilom playmate, as before, Comes with the language of the bee… Sad songs her mountain cedars sing…

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…

The pink rose drops its petals on The moonlit lawn, the moonlit lawn… The moon, like some wide rose of w… Drops down the summer night. No rose there is

Were I an artist, Lydia, I Would paint you as you merit, Not as my eyes, but dreams, descry… Not in the flesh, but spirit. The canvas I would paint you on

Deep with divine tautology, The sunset’s mighty mystery Again has traced the scroll-like w… With hieroglyphs of burning gold: Forever new, forever old,

The mornings raise Voices of gold in the Almighty’s… The sunsets soar In choral crimson from far shore t… Each is a blast,

From 'Beltenebros at Miraflores’ O sunset, from the springs of star… Draw down thy cataracts of gold; And belt their streams with burnin… Of ruby on which flame is rolled:

There is no rhyme that is half so… As the song of the wind in the rip… There is no metre that’s half so f… As the lilt of the brook under roc… And the loveliest lyric I ever he…

When on the leaves the rain persis… And every gust brings showers down… When all the woodland smokes with… I take the old road out of town Into the hills through which it tw…

When blood-root blooms and trilliu… Unclasp their stars to sun and rai… My heart strikes hands with winds… And wanders in the woods again. O urging impulse, born of spring,

There in the past I see her as of… Blue-eyed and hazel-haired, within… Dim with a twilight of tenebrious… Her white face sensuous as a delic… Night opens in the tropics. Fold…