The slow reflection of a woman's face Grew, as by witchcraft, in the oval space Of that strange glass on which the moon looked in: As cruel as death beneath the auburn hair...
She took her babe, the child of shame and sin, And wrapped it warmly in her shawl and went From house to house for work. Propriety bent A look of wonder on her; raised a din...
And these are Christians! God! the horror of it! How long, O Lord! how long, O Lord! how long Wilt Thou endure this crime? and there, above it, Look down on Earth nor sweep away the wrong!...
Upon the iron crags of War I heard his terrible daughters In battle speak while at their feet, In gulfs of human waters, A voice, intoning, "Where is God?" in ceaseless sorrow beat:...
Last night it was Hallowe'en. Darkest night I've ever seen. And the boy next door, I thought, Would be glad to know of this Jack-o'-lantern father brought Home from Indianapolis....
On a sheet of silver the morning-star lay Fresh, white as a baby child, And laughed and leaped in his lissome way, On my parterre of flowers smiled. For a morning-glory's spiral bud...
Last night I lay awake and heard the wind, That madman jongleur of the world of air, Making wild music: now he seemed to fare With harp and lute, so intimately twinned...
Among the tales, wherein it hath been told, In golden letters in a book of gold, Of Hatim Ta''s hospitality, Who, substanceless in death and shadowy,...
A blown white bubble buoyed zenith-ward, Up from the tremulous East the round moon swung Mist-murky, and the unsocial stars that thronged, Hot with the drought, thick down the empty West,...
Though red my blood hath left its trail For five far miles, I shall not fail, As God in Heaven wills! The way was long through that black land. With sword on hip and horn in hand,...
Like some gaunt ghost the tempest wails Outside my door; its icy nails Beat on the pane: and Night and Storm Around the house, with furious flails Of wind, from which the slant sleet hails,...
Whenever on the windowpane I hear the fingers of the rain, And in the old trees, near the door, The wind that whispers more and more, Bright in the light made by the lamp I make myself a hunter's camp....
There was once a little boy So my father told me who Never cared for any toy, But just sweet things, as boys do, Cakes and comfits, cream and ice, All the things that boys think nice,...
Do you know the way that goes Over fields of rue and rose, Warm of scent and hot of hue, Roofed with heaven's bluest blue, To the Vale of Dreams Come True?
So we had come at last, my soul and I, Into that land of shadowy plain and peak, On which the dawn seemed ever about to break On which the day seemed ever about to die.
She sleeps; he sings to her. The day was long, And, tired out with too much happiness, She fain would have him sing of old Provence; Quaint songs, that spoke of love in such soft tones,...