Of fret, of dark, of thorn, of chi… Complain no more; for these, O he… Direct the random of the will As rhymes direct the rage of art. The lute’s fixt fret, that runs at…

Presenting a portrait-bust of the… Since you, rare friend! have tied… With thanks more large than man e’… So let the dumbness of this image… My eloquence, and still interpret…

At midnight, death’s and truth’s u… When far within the spirit’s heari… The great soft rumble of the cours… A bulk of silence in a mask of sou… When darkness clears our vision th…

Sometimes in morning sunlights by… Where in the early fall long grass… Light winds from over the moorland… And sigh as if just blown across a… And then I pause and listen to th…

Once, at night, in the manor wood My Love and I long silent stood, Amazed that any heavens could Decree to part us, bitterly repini… My Love, in aimless love and grie…

From cold Norse caves or buccanee… Oft come repenting tempests here t… Bewailing old-time wrecks and robb… They shrive to priestly pines with… Breathe salutary balms through lan…

The Centennial Meditation of Col… [Musical Annotations, in angled b… [Full chorus: sober, measured and… From this hundred-terraced height, Sight more large with nobler light

My soul is sailing through the sea… But the Past is heavy and hindere… The Past hath crusted cumbrous sh… That hold the flesh of cold sea-me… About my soul.

O Age that half believ’st thou ha… Half doubt’st the substance of thi… And, half perceiving that thou hal… Stand’st at thy temple door, heart… Lo! while thy heart’s within, help…

‘Opinion, let me alone: I am not… Prim Creed, with categoric point,… To feature me my Lord by rule and… Thou canst not measure Mistress N… Not one sweet inch: nay, if thy si…

Written for the “Martha Washingto… Down cold snow-stretches of our bi… When windy shams and the rain-mock… Of Trade have cased us in such ic… That hearts are scarcely hot enoug…

By the Eldest Grandson. A rainbow span of fifty years, Painted upon a cloud of tears, In blue for hopes and red for fear… Finds end in a golden hour to-day.

My soul is like the oar that momen… Dies in a desperate stress beneath… Then glitters out again and sweeps… Each second I’m new-born from som…

The storm hath blown thee a lover,… And laid him kneeling at thy feet. But,—guerdon rich for favor rare! The wind hath all thy holy hair To kiss and to sing through and to…

I was drivin’ my two-mule waggin, With a lot o’ truck for sale, Towards Macon, to git some baggin… (Which my cotton was ready to bale… And I come to a place on the side…