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…

When all the world has gone awry, And I myself least favour find With my own self, and but to die And leave the whole sad coil behin… Seems but the one and only way;

Strange little spring, by channels… Gentle, resistless, welling, welli… Through what blind ways, we know n… You darkling come to dance and dim… Strange little spring!

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…

Fly, little note, And know no rest Till warm you lie Within that nest Which is her breast;

The heart of the rose-how sweet Its fragrance to drain, Till the greedy brain Reels and grows faint With the garnered scent,

Ah! did you ever hear the Spring Calling you through the snow, Or hear the little blackbird sing Inside its egg-or go To that green land where grass beg…

Soldier going to the war— Will you take my heart with you, So that I may share a little In the famous things you do? Soldier going to the war—

O ships upon the sea, O shapes of… O lands whose names are made of sp… Old painted empires that are ever… From Cochin-China down to Zanzib… O Beauty simple, soul-less, and b…

All the flowers cannot weave A garland worthy of your hair, Not a bird in the four winds Can sing of you that is so fair. Only the spheres can sing of you;

I saw him in a picture, and I fel… He stood in line, The man ‘for mine,’ A tall silk-hatted 'guy’— Right on the call,

Who dough shall knead as for God’… Shall fill it with celestial leave… And every loaf that she shall bake Be eaten of the Blest in heaven.

Go, little book, and be the lookin… Of her dear soul, The mirror of her moments as they… Keeping the whole; Wherein she still may look on yest…

When thou art gone, then all the r… Mornings no more shall dawn, Roses no more shall blow, Thy lovely face withdrawn— Nor woods grow green again after t…

She bore us in her dreaming womb, And laughed into the face of Deat… She laughed, in her strange agony,… To give her little baby breath. Then, by some holy mystery,