Kiss me and comfort my heart Maiden honest and fine. I am the pilgrim boy Lame, but hunting the shrine; Fleeing away from the sweets,

(Matthew V, 38-48.) Who can surrender to Christ, divi… Giving to each what he asks, bravi… All for the enemy, MAN? Who can… His words and his works, his house…

A Recitation for Martha Wakefiel… There was a little turtle. He lived in a box. He swam in a puddle. He climbed on the rocks.

Even the shrewd and bitter, Gnarled by the old world’s greed, Cherished the stranger softly Seeing his utter need. Shelter and patient hearing,

Once I loved a spider When I was born a fly, A velvet-footed spider With a gown of rainbow-dye. She ate my wings and gloated.

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

A Fantasy, dedicated to the little poet Alice Oliver Henderson, ten years old. The Fantasy shows how tiger-hearts are the cause of war in all ages. It shows how the mammoth forces ma...

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…

In a nation of one hundred fine, m… There are plenty of sweeping, swin… And knock your old blue devils out… I brag and chant of Bryan, Bryan,… Candidate for president who sketch…

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…

O you who lose the art of hope, Whose temples seem to shrine a lie… Whose sidewalks are but stones of… Who weep that Liberty must die, Turn to the little prairie towns,

Life’s a jail where men have commo… Gaunt the one who has, and who has… All our treasures neither less nor… Bread alone comes thro’ the guarde… Cards are foolish in this jail, I…

(A Negro Sermon.) Once, in a night as black as ink, She drove him out when he would no… Round the house there were men in… Asleep in rows by the Gaza gate.

A Song in Chinese Tapestries<… “How, how,” he said. “Friend Chan… “San Francisco sleeps as the dead… Ended license, lust and play: Why do you iron the night away?

Would I might wake in you the whi… Of Michelangelo, who hewed the st… And Night and Day revealed, whose… Could draw the face of God, the t… Whose genius smote like lightning…