Here is a tale for ladies with romances: There was an owl; composer and musician, Who looked as wise as if he had a mission, And at all art cast supercilious glances....
When dusk is drowned in drowsy dreams, And slow the hues of sunset die; When firefly and moth go by, And in still streams the new moon seems Another moon and sky:...
Here is a tale for farmer and for peasant: There was an ox, who might have ploughed for Jason, So strong was he, his huge head like a bason, A Gothic helmet with enormous crescent....
On southern winds shot through with amber light, Breeding soft balm, and clothed in cloudy white, The lily-fingered Spring came o'er the hills Waking the crocus and the daffodils....
The gods of Asaheim, incensed with Loke, A whirlwind yoked with thunder-footed steeds, And, carried thus, boomed o'er the booming seas, Far as the teeming wastes of Jotunheim,...
The rose of Hope, how rich and red It blooms, and will bloom on, 't is said, Since Eve, in Eden days gone by, Plucked it on Adam's heart to lie, When out of Paradise they fled,...
When, one by one, the stars have trembled through Eve's shadowy hues of violet, rose, and fire As on a pansy-bloom the limpid dew Orbs its bright beads; and, one by one, the choir...
I Heard a Spirit singing as, beyond the morning winging, Its radiant form went swinging like a star: In its song prophetic voices mixed their sounds with trumpet-noises, As when, loud, the World rejoices after war....
Over the rocks she trails her locks, Her mossy locks that drip, drip, drip: Her sparkling eyes smile at the skies In friendship-wise and fellowship: While the gleam and glance of her countenance...
How can I help from laughing while The daffodilies at me smile; The tickled dew winks tipsily In clusters of the lilac-tree; The crocuses and hyacinths Storm through the grassy labyrinths...
There lay in a vale 'twixt lone mountains A garden entangled with flowers, Where the whisper of echoing fountains Stirred softly the musk-breathing bowers....
I Heard the hylas in the bottomlands Piping a reed-note in the praise of Spring: The South-wind brought the music on its wing, As 't were a hundred strands...
A cry went through the darkness; and the moon, Hurrying through storm, gazed with a ghastly face, Then cloaked herself in scud: the merman race Of surges ceased; and then th' Aeolian croon...
The wind that breathes of columbines And celandines that crowd the rocks; That shakes the balsam of the pines With laughter from his airy locks, Stops at my city door and knocks. ...
The Winter Wind, the wind of death, Who knocked upon my door, Now through the keyhole entereth, Invisible and hoar: He breathes around his icy breath And treads the flickering floor. ...