My fancies are fireflies, — Specks of living light twinkling in the dark. he voice of wayside pansies, that do not attract the careless g…

91 THE great earth makes herself hos… with the help of the grass. 92 THE birth and death of the leaves

Maya That I should make much of myself… thus casting colored shadows on th… ——such is thy Maya. Thou settest a barrier in thine ow…

Man goes into the noisy crowd to drown his own clamour of silenc… Man is immortal; therefore he must… For life is a creative idea; it can only find itself in changin…

Is that your call again? The evening has come. Weariness… Do you call me? I had given all my day to you, cru… Somewhere there is an end to every…

61 TAKE my wine in my own cup, frie… It loses its wreath of foam when poured into that of others. 62

You are the evening cloud floating… I paint you and fashion you ever w… You are my own, my own, Dweller i… Your feet are rosy-red with the gl… Your lips are bitter-sweet with th…

Tell me if this be all true, my lo… When these eyes flash their lightn… Is it true that my lips are sweet… Do the memories of vanished months… Does the earth, like a harp, shive…

When I give up the helm I know that the time has come for… What there is to do will be instan… Vain is this struggle. Then take away your hands

I dive down into the depth of the… No more sailing from harbor to har… And now I am eager to die into th… Into the audience hall by the fath… I shall tune it to the notes of fo…

“Ah, poet, the evening draws near; your hair is turning grey.” “Do you in your lonely musing hear the message of the hereafter?” “It is evening,” the poet said, “and I am listening beca...

Come as you are, tarry not over yo… If your braiding has come loose, i… Come as you are, tarry not over yo… Come with quick steps over the gra… If your feet are pale with the dew…