Down on the Lumbee river Where the eddies ripple cool Your boat, I know, glides stealthily About some shady pool. The summer's heats have lulled asleep The fish-hawk's chattering noise,...
Hills, wrapped in gray, standing along the west; Clouds, dimly lighted, gathering slowly; The star of peace at watch above the crest-- Oh, holy, holy, holy!
The little white bride is left alone With him, her lord; the guests have gone; The festal hall is dim. No jesting now, nor answering mirth. The hush of sleep falls on the earth...
Repose upon her soulless face, Dig the grave and leave her; But breathe a prayer that, in his grace, He who so loved this toiling race To endless rest receive her.
All day low clouds and slanting rain Have swept the woods and dimmed the plain. Wet winds have swayed the birch and oak, And caught and swirled away the smoke, But, all day long, the wooden clock...
They locked him in a prison cell, Murky and mean. She kissed him there a wife's farewell The bars between. And when she turned to go, the crowd, Thinking to see her shamed and bowed,...
Some time, far hence, when Autumn sheds Her frost upon your hair, And you together sit at dusk, May I come to you there? And lightly will our hearts turn back To this, then distant, day...
A flight of doves, with wanton wings, Flash white against the sky. In the leafy copse an oriole sings, And a robin sings hard by. Sun and shadow are out on the hills;...
When summer's languor drugs my veins And fills with sleep the droning times, Like sluggish dreams among my brains, There runs the drollest sort of rhymes, Idle as clouds that stray through heaven...
What shall I bring you, sweet? A posy prankt with every April hue: The cloud-white daisy, violet sky-blue, Shot with the primrose sunshine through and through?
One sits in soft light, where the hearth is warm, A halo, like an angel's, on her hair. She clasps a sleeping infant in her arm. A holy presence hovers round her there,...
This is the time for birds to mate; To-day the dove Will mark the ancient amorous date With moans of love; The crow will change his call to prate His hopes thereof. ...
The wintry sun was pale On hill and hedge; The wind smote with its flail The seeded sedge; High up above the world, New taught to fly, The withered leaves were hurled About the sky;...
When I go home, green, green will glow the grass, Whereon the flight of sun and cloud will pass; Long lines of wood-ducks through the deepening gloam Will hold above the west, as wrought on brass,...