The Sun burns fiercely down the s… The sea is full of flashing eyes; The waves glide shoreward serpentw… And fawn with foamy tongues on sta… Gray rocks, each sharp-toothed as…

IN my garden, O Beloved! Many pleasant trees are growing, Peach, and apricot, and apple, Myrtle, lilac, and laburnum. Fair are they, but midst them lone…

O THE Queen may keep her golden Crown and sceptre of command! I would give them both twice over To be King of Babyland. Sure, it is a wondrous country

CARE is a Poet fine: He works in shade or shine, And leaves—you know his sign!— No day without its line. He writes with iron pen

The Muse who comes each morning In rozy gauze is clad; Her head is crowned with flowers, Her eyes are clear and glad. Upon her virgin bosom

Tjere are three mighty Voices th… Cry out to God to speed His Judg… The Voice of Devils, weary long a… Of dragging souls to Everlasting… The Voice of Saints who hear, whi…

The red sun on the lonely lands    Gazed, under clouds of rose, As one who under knitted hands    Takes one last look and goes. Then Pain, with her white sister…

Dedicated to Louis Becke You are now in London town, Louis Becke, Keeping up your old renown, Writing yarns of women brown,

The awful seers of old who wrote,… Like drops of blood, great thought… Of ages burn, as eyes of lions lig… Deep jungle-dusks; who smote with… The soul of man on its most secret…

And after all—and after all,    Our passionate prayers, and sig… Is life a reckless carnival?    And are they lost, our golden y… Ah, no; ah, no; for, long ago,

Through the noiseless doors of De… Three passed out, as with one brea… Two had faces stern as Fate, Stamped with unrelenting hate. One upon her lips of guile

A horseman on a hilltop green Drew rein, and wound his horn; So bright he looked he might have… The Herald of the Morn. His steed was of the sovran strain

Bouquet said: “My floral ring The homage of a heart encloses, Whose thoughts to you go worshippi… In perfume from my blushing roses.… Bracelet said: “My rubies red,

BY the road, near her father’s dw… There groweth a hawthorn tree: Its blossoms are fair and fragrant As the love that I cast from me. It is all a-bloom this morning

The night is young yet; an enchan… In early summer: calm and darkly b… I love the Night, and every littl… She brings, to soothe the sleep of… Hearst thou the Voices? Sough! S…