How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves, Close by the street of this fair seaport town, Silent beside the never-silent waves, At rest in all this moving up and down! ...
Where are the songs I used to know, Where are the notes I used to sing? I have forgotten everything I used to know so long ago; Summer has followed after Spring; Now Autumn is so shrunk and sere,...
Oh! it is not just the men who face the guns, Not the fighters at the Front alone, to-day Who will bring the longed-for close to the bloody fray, for those Could not carry on that fray without the ones...
A noted thief, the kite, Had set a neighbourhood in fright, And raised the clamorous noise Of all the village boys, When, by misfortune, - sad to say, - A nightingale fell in his way....
I dreamed a dream: I stood upon a height, A mountain's utmost eminence of snow, Whence I beheld the plain outstretched below To a far sea-horizon, dim and white. Beneath the sun's expiring, ghastly light,...
Light on the towns and cities, and peace for evermore! The Big Five met in the world's light as many had met before, And the future of man is settled and there shall be no more war. ...
I dreamed, and lo, I saw in my dream a beautiful gateway, Arched at the top, and crowned with turrets lance-windowed and olden, And sculptured in arabesque, all knotted and woven and spangled;...
The lightning spun your garment for the night Of silver filaments with fire shot thru, A broidery of lamps that lit for you The steadfast splendor of enduring light....
O gone are now those eager great glad days of days, but I remember Yet even yet the light that turned the saddest of sad hours to mirth; I remember how elate I swung upon the thrusting bowsprits,...
If with voice of words or prayers thy sons may reach thee, We thy latter sons, the men thine after-birth, We the children of thy grey-grown age, O Earth,...
The little needle always knows the North, The little bird remembereth his note, And this wise Seer within me never errs. I never taught it what it teaches me; I only follow, when I act aright. ...
The little old poem that nobody reads Blooms in a crowded space, Like a ground-vine blossom, so low in the weeds That nobody sees its face - Unless, perchance, the reader's eye...