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…

The beauty of the day put joy, Unbounded, in the woodland’s breas… Through which the wind, like some… Ran on and took no rest. The little stream that made its ho…

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…

Here is a tale for poets and for p… There was a bagpipe once, that whe… And droned vile discords, notes th… Nasal and harsh, outbraying all th… And then the thing assumed another…

Christmas is just one week off, And Old Santa’s in the house; In the attic heard a cough Th’ other day when not a mouse Nor a rat, I know, was there.

Yea, why I love thee let my heart… I look upon thy face and then divi… How men could die for beauty, such… Deeming it sweet To lay my life and manhood at thy…

THE Season speaks this year of l… Confusing words of strife, Suggesting weeds instead of fruits… In all Earth’s bowers. With heart of Jael, face of Ruth,

There is a world Life dreams of,… Invisible save only to the heart: That spreads its cloudy islands, w… Above the Earth,'mid oceans none… Far Faerylands, that have become…

Sing, Hey, when the time rolls ro… And the bells peal out, ’Tis Chri… The world is better then by half, For joy, for joy; In a little while you will see it…

He was a boy, sun-burned and brown… And she a girl from a neighboring… Dark were her eyes and dark her ha… And her cheeks as red as the ripe… Dainty and sweet, with a far-away

Bald, with old eyes a blood-shot b… Into the Boar’s-Head Inn: the ho… His fulvous face, and all his raim… Of all the stews and all the East… Upon the battered board again he d…

Upon the summit of his Century He reared a Palace of enduring Ar… From whose wild windows never more… Beauty’s pale light and starry fan… Within is music, sobbing ceaseless…

Far as the eye can see the land is… And desolation sits among the ston… Looking on ruin who, from rocks li… Stares with a dead face at the dyi… Mounds, where the barberry and bay…

There was moonlight in the garden… There was scent of pink and peony… When adown the pathway whitely, wh… She came stepping, oh, so lightly, To the old gate made of pickets.

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.