The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept....
The day's sharp strife is ended now, Our work is done, God knoweth how! As on the thronged, unrestful town The patience of the moon looks down, I wait to hear, beside the wire,...
My morn was all dewy rose and pearl, Peace brimmed the skies, a cool and fragrant air Caressed my going forth, and everywhere The radiant webs, by hope and fancy spun, Stretched shining in the sun. ...
I am healthy again. And my tired brain Is free of oppressive gloom. My forehead is damp. As though it covered With dewdrops at the hour of blooming dawn. I can see again the world rich with light,...
There is a place hung o'er of summer boughs And dreamy skies wherein the gray hawk sleeps; Where water flows, within whose lazy deeps, Like silvery prisms where the sunbeams drowse,...
There is a place hung o'er with summer boughs And drowsy skies wherein the gray hawk sleeps; Where waters flow, within whose lazy deeps, Like silvery prisms that the winds arouse,...
Speech after long silence; it is right, All other lovers being estranged or dead, Unfriendly lamplight hid under its shade, The curtains drawn upon unfriendly night, That we descant and yet again descant...
Three men lived yet when this dead man was young Whose names and words endure for ever one: Whose eyes grew dim with straining toward the sun, And his wings weakened, and his angel's tongue...
I wonder if with you, as it is with me, If under your slipping words, that easily flow About you as a garment, easily, Your violent heart beats to and fro!
The song that once I dreamed about, The tender, touching thing, As radiant as the rose without The love of wind and wing The perfect verses, to the tune Of woodland music set,...
Have you forgotten yet?... For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days, Like traffic checked awhile at the crossing of city ways:...
When the summer fields are mown, When the birds are fledged and flown, And the dry leaves strew the path; With the falling of the snow, With the cawing of the crow, Once again the fields we mow...
Small, shapeless drifts of cloud Sail slowly northward in the soft-hued sky, With blur half-tints and rolling summits bright, By the late sun caressed; slight hazes shroud...