’Tis not too late to build our you… Cleaner than Holland, courtlier t… Devout like early Rome, with hear… Hearths that will recreate the bre…

I. GOD SEND THE REGICI… Would that the lying rulers of the… Were brought to block for tyrannie… Would that the sword of Cromwell… The sword of Joshua and Gideon,

I saw wild domes and bowers And smoking incense towers And mad exotic flowers In Illinois. Where ragged ditches ran

On the road to nowhere What wild oats did you sow When you left your father’s house With your cheeks aglow? Eyes so strained and eager

[A Poem for Aviators] How the Wings Were Made From many morning-glories That in an hour will fade, From many pansy buds

The moon is but a candle-glow That flickers thro’ the gloom: The starry space, a castle hall: And Earth, the children’s room, Where all night long the old trees…

Girl with the burning golden eyes, And red-bird song, and snowy throa… I bring you gold and silver moons, And diamond stars, and mists that… I bring you moons and snowy clouds…

A POEM DEDICATED T… Galahad . . . soldier that perishe… Our hearts are breaking with shame… Galahad . . . knight who perished… Teach us to fight for immaculate w…

Last night at black midnight I wo… The windows were shaking, there wa… The floor was a-tremble, the door… White fires, crimson fires, shone… I rushed to the door yard. The ci…

O dandelion, rich and haughty, King of village flowers! Each day is coronation time, You have no humble hours. I like to see you bring a troop

[Written while a field-worker i… King Arthur’s men have come again… They challenge everywhere The foes of Christ’s Eternal Chu… Her incense crowns the air.

Hungry for music with a desperate… I prowled abroad, I threaded thro… The evening crowd was clamoring an… Vulgar and pitiful—my heart bowed… Till I remembered duller hours ma…

[Concerning Edgar Allan Poe]<… Who now will praise the Wizard in… With loyal songs, with humors grav… This Jingle-man, of strolling pla… Whom holy folk have hurried by in…

The Jazz-bird sings a barnyard so… A cock-a-doodle bray, A jingle-bells, a boiler works, A he-man’s roundelay. The eagle said, ‘My noisy son,

Romance was always young. You come today Just eight years old With marvellous dark hair. Younger than Dante found you