I know not in what place again I’… The face I love-but there is not… In the wide world where you can wa… Without my finding you, with those… Nor is there any star in all the s…

The dead arose. Long had they dre… Deep in the grass of the still gra… Of meeting their beloved once more… They knocked at each familiar door… They waited eagerly to see

(TO MRS. PERCY DEARMER) A poet hungered, as well he might– Not a morsel since yesternight! And sad he grew—good reason why— For the poet had nought wherewith…

I meant to do my work to—day— But a brown bird sang in the apple… And a butterfly flitted across the… And all the leaves were calling me… And the wind went sighing over the…

April is in the world again, And all the world is filled with f… Flowers for others, not for me! For my one flower I cannot see, Lost in the April showers.

I’m not sorry I am older, love—ar… Over all youth’s fuss and flurry, All its everlasting hurry, All its solemn self-importance and… Perhaps we missed the highest reac…

(TO EDMUND GOSSE) Still towards the steep Parnassia… The moon-led pilgrims wend, Ah, who of all that start to-day Shall ever reach the end?

This is all that is left—this lett… And do you, poor dreaming things,… That your little fire shall burn f… And this great fire be, all but th… Flower! of course she is—but is sh…

Crickets calling, Apples falling. Summer dying, Life is flying. So soon over–

An animalcule in my blood Rose up against me as I dreamed, He was so tiny as he stood, You had not heard him, though he s… He cried ‘There is no Man!’

There blooms a flower in Trebizon… Stored with such honey for the bee… (So saith the antique book I conn… Of such alluring fragrancy, Not sweeter smells the Eden-tree;

The fight I loved—the good old fi… Was clear as day ‘twixt Might and… Satrap and slave on either hand, Tiller and tyrant of the land; One delved the earth the other tro…

O loveliest face, on which we look… Not without hope we may again beho… Somewhere, somehow, when we oursel… Where, Lucy, you have gone, this… That gathered beauty every changin…

(TO JAMES WELCH) Dear Desk, Farewell! I spoke you… In phrases neither sweet nor soft, But at the end I come to see That thou a friend hast been to me…

Through the dark wood There came to me a friend, Bringing in his cold hands Two words-'The End.’ His face was fair