Wind rising in the alleys My spirit lifts in you like a banner streaming free of hot walls. You are full of unspent dreams.... You are laden with beginnings.......
Winds of May, that dance on the sea, Dancing a ring-around in glee From furrow to furrow, while overhead The foam flies up to be garlanded, In silvery arches spanning the air,...
Thy forests, Windsor! and thy green retreats, At once the Monarch's and the Muse's seats, Invite my lays. Be present, sylvan maids! Unlock your springs, and open all your shades....
Wind thy horn, my hunter boy, And leave thy lute's inglorious sighs; Hunting is the hero's joy, Till war his nobler game supplies. Hark! the hound-bells ringing sweet,...
With heavy groans did I approach my friends, Heavy as though the mountains I would move. The flagon they were murdering; they poured Into the cup, wild-eyed, the grape's red blood....
Ovarus mine, Plant thou the vine Within this kindly soil of Tibur; Nor temporal woes, Nor spiritual, knows The man who's a discreet imbiber. For who doth croak Of being broke,...
The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits, The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates, The cliffs were robed in scarlet, the sands were cinnabar,...
As a blue-necked mallard alighting in a pool Among marsh-marigolds and splashing wet Green leaves and yellow blooms, like jewels set In bright, black mud, with clear drops crystal-cool,...
Oh, Wing Tee Wee Was a sweet Chinee, And she lived in the town of Tac. Her eyes were blue, And her curling queue Hung dangling down her back; And she fell in love with gay Win Sil...
Unless our Souls win back to Thee, We shall have lost this fight. Yes, though we win on field and sea, Though mightier still our might may be, We still shall lose if we win not Thee....
When the meadow-lark trilled o'er the leas and the oriole piped in the maples, From my hammock, all under the trees, by the sweet-scented field of red clover, I harked to the hum of the bees,...
'Tis the moon of the sere, falling leaves. From the heads of the maples the west-wind Plucks the red-and-gold plumage and grieves on the meads for the rose and the lily;...
'Twas sunrise; the spirits of mist trailed their white robes on dewy savannas, And the flowers raised their heads to be kissed by the first golden beams of the morning. The breeze was abroad with the breath...
A dog shrieks in misery from a bridge To heaven... which stands like old gray stone Upon far-off houses. And, like a rope Made of tar, a dead river lies on the snow....
Winter, some call thee fair, Yea! flatter thy cold face With vain compare Of all thy glittering ways And magic snows With summer and the rose; Thy phantom flowers And fretted traceries...