Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass. You said, "Through glory and ecstasy we pass; Wind, sun, and earth remain, the birds sing still,...
I ought to feel more satisfy an' happy dan I be, For better husban' dan ma own, it 's very hard to fin' An' plaintee woman if dey got such boy an' girl as me...
There is no joy of earth that thrills My bosom like the far-off hills! Th' unchanging hills, that, shadowy, Beckon our mutability To follow and to gaze upon Foundations of the dusk and dawn....
Behind my father's cottage lies A gentle grassy height Up which I often ran--to gaze Back with a wondering sight, For then the chimneys I thought high Were down below me quite! ...
Ten-hundred deep the drifted daisies break Here at the hill's foot; on its top, the wheat Hangs meagre-bearded; and, in vague retreat, The wisp-like blooms of the moth-mulleins shake....
The burly driver at my side, We slowly climbed the hill, Whose summit, in the hot noontide, Seemed rising, rising still. At last, our short noon-shadows bid The top-stone, bare and brown,...
One ought not to have to care So much as you and I Care when the birds come round the house To seem to say good-bye; Or care so much when they come back...
"OH, say, what is this fearful, wild In-cor-ri-gible cuss?" "This crea-ture (don't say 'cuss,' my child; 'T is slang) - this crea-ture fierce is styled The Hip-po-pot-am-us....
"Corn's high this year," chirped the old woman, almost with a cackle. "All's the better for them to hide in," the old woman was continuing, her face a brazen mixture of distain and contempt. ...
The Hired Man's supper, which he sat before, In near reach of the wood-box, the stove-door And one leaf of the kitchen-table, was Somewhat belated, and in lifted pause His dextrous knife was balancing a bit...
When Mother Cludd[1] had rose from play, And call'd to take the cards away, Van saw, but seem'd not to regard, How Miss pick'd every painted card, And, busy both with hand and eye,...
In the old Hebrew myth the lion's frame, So terrible alive, Bleached by the desert's sun and wind, became The wandering wild bees' hive; And he who, lone and naked-handed, tore...
A goat, a sheep, and porker fat, All to the market rode together. Their own amusement was not that Which caused their journey thither. Their coachman did not mean to 'set them down'...
Fleet swallows soared and darted 'Neath empty vaults of blue; Thick leaves close clung or parted To let the sunlight through; Each wild rose, honey-hearted, Bowed full of living dew. ...
A robe of seeming truth and trust Did crafty observation; And secret hung, with poison'd crust, The dirk of Defamation: A mask that like the gorget show'd, Dye-varying on the pigeon;...
From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done In tournament or tilt, Sir Percivale, Whom Arthur and his knighthood called The Pure, Had passed into the silent life of prayer,...