High as a star, yet lowly as a flower, Unknown she takes her unassuming place At Earth's proud masquerade--the appointed hour Strikes, and, behold, the marvel of her face.
The wild oxalis Among the valleys Lifts up its chalice Of pink and pearl; And, balsam-breathing, From out their sheathing, The myriad wreathing Green leaves uncurl. ...
There's a bug at night that goes Drowsily down the garden ways; Lumberingly above the rose, And above the jasmine sprays; Bumping, bungling, buzzing by, Falling finally, to crawl...
How does the Autumn in her mind conclude The tragic masque her frosty pencil writes, Broad on the pages of the days and nights, In burning lines of orchard, wold, and wood?...
Before the rain, low in the obscure east, Weak and morose the moon hung, sickly gray; Around its disc the storm mists, cracked and creased, Wove an enormous web, wherein it lay...
All desolate she sate her down Upon the marble of the temple's stair. You would have thought her, with her eyes of brown, Flushed cheeks and hazel hair, A dryad dreaming there.
Be glad, just for to-day! O heart, be glad! Cast all your cares away! Doff all that 's sad! Put of your garments gray Be glad to-day! Be merry while you-can; For life is short...
Against each prince now she had held her own, An easy victor for the seven years O'er kings and sons of kings; Eddetma, she Who, when much sought in marriage, hating men,...
Below the sunset's range of rose, Below the heaven's deepening blue, Down woodways where the balsam blows, And milkweed tufts hang, gray with dew, A Jersey heifer stops and lows -...
The quickening East climbs to yon star, That, cradled, rocks herself in morn; The liquid silver broad'ning far Dawn drencheth cliff, holt, down and tarn. The trembling splendors gild the sky,...
My love went berrying Where brooks were merrying And wild wings ferrying Heaven's amethyst; The wildflowers blessed her, My dearest Hester, The winds caressed her,...
The day, all fierce with carmine, turns An Indian face towards Earth and dies; The west, like some gaunt vase, inurns Its ashes under smouldering skies, Athwart whose bowl one red cloud streams,...
O Days that hold us; and years that mold us! And dreams and mem'ries no time destroys! Where lie the islands, the morning islands, And where the highlands we knew when boys? ...
There it lies broken, as a shard, What breathed sweet music yesterday; The source, all mute, has passed away With its masked meanings still unmarred. But melody will never cease!...
We tightened stirrup; buckled rein; Looked to our saddle-girths again; Shook hands all round; then mounted. The gate swung wide: we said, "Good-bye." No time for talk had Bell and I....