Bewilderingly, from wildly shaken… Invisible hands, deft moving every… Have woven a winding sheet of velv… And laid the dead earth in her dow… And more and more, in white confus…
FAR away dim violet mountains Fade away from sight; Flashing from fantastic fountains, Jets the liquid light, Where from Nymph’s or Triton’s li…
Lo, haply walking in some clatteri… Where throngs of men and women dum… Like shifting pictures seen within… Which leave no trace behind—one se… In roads once trodden by our mutua…
THOU camest with the coming Spri… With swallows, and the murmuring Of unloosed waters, with the birth Of daisies dimpling the green eart… And when the perfect rose of June
Sometimes I wonder if you guess The deep impassioned tenderness Which overflows my heart; The love I never dare confess; Yet hard, yea, harder to repress
In a lonesome burial-place Crouched a mourner white of face; Wild her eyes—unheeding Circling pomp of night and day— Ever crying, “Well away,
In a Kentish Rose Garden. Beside a Dial in the leafy close, Where every bush was burning with… With million roses falling flake b… Upon the lawn in fading summer sno…
Ah, if you knew how soon and late My eyes long for a sight of you Sometimes in passing by my gate You’d linger until fall of dew, If you but knew!
Beside a Dial in the leafy close, Where every bush was burning with… With million roses falling flake b… Upon the lawn in fading summer sno… I read the Persian Poet’s rhyme o…
LOVE, oh, Love’s a dainty sweeti… Wooing now, and now retreating; Brightest joy and blackest care, Swift as light, and light as air. II.
Yea, the roses are still on fire With the bygone heat of July, Though the least little wind drift… Shake a rose-leaf or two from the… Be it never so soft a sigh.
Like some wild sleeper who alone a… Walks with unseeing eyes along a h… With death below and only stars ab… I, in broad daylight, walk as if i… Along the edges of life’s perilous…
Oh haste while roses bloom below, Oh haste while pale and bright abo… The sun and moon alternate glow, To pluck the rose of love. Yea, give the morning to the lark,
You make the sunshine of my heart And its tempestuous shower; Sometimes the thought of you is li… A lilac bush in flower, Yea, honey-sweet as hives in May.
(Holy Trinity Church.) THE hectic autumn’s dilatory fire Has turned this lime tree to a sev… Which, self consuming, lights the… A death to which all poet souls as…