HAVING certain cares to drown, To the sea I took them down: And I threw them in the wave, That engulfed them like a grave. Swiftly then I plied the oar

What know we of the dead, who say… Or of the life in death below the… What of the mystic laws that rule… Grey realms beyond our poor imagin… Where death is life? The bird wit…

Choose who will the wiser part— I have held her heart to heart; And have felt her heart-strings st… And her soul’s still singing heard For one golden-haloed hour

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

The Woman at the Washtub, She works till fall of night; With soap and suds and soda Her hands are wrinkled white. Her diamonds are the sparkles

The Narrow, thorny path he trod. “Enter into My joy,” said God. The sad ascetic shook his head; “I’ve lost all taste for joy,” he…

What shall a man remember In days when he is old, And Life is a dying ember, And Fame a story told? Power—that came to leave him?

Soul of the leaping flame; Heart of the scarlet fire, Spirit that hath for name Only the name - Desire! Subtle art thou and strong;

Ah! that God once would touch my… To pierce, as prayer doth heaven,… So that with sweet mouth I might… O sweet dead singer buried by the… A song, to woo thee, as a wooing s…

If I were young as you, Sixteen, And you were old as I, I would not be as I have been, You would not be so shy— We should not watch with careless…

What! Don’t you our Mæcenas kno… The man who started, years ago, Our Wild Australian Author show? You don’t? Your ignorance sublim… Exceeds– to use a Boston rhyme –

These are the flowers of sleep That nod in the heavy noon, Ere the brown shades eastward cree… To a drowsy and dreamful tune— These are the flowers of sleep.

O DAY, the crown and crest of al… Thou comest not to us amid the sno… But midmost of the reign of the re… Our hearts have not yet lost the a… That filled our fathers’ simple he…

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

On a golden dawn in the dawn subli… Of years ere the stars had ceased… Beautiful out of the sea-deeps col… Aphrodite arose—the Flower of Tim… That, dear till the day of her blo…