Oh city, whom grey stormy hands have sown With restless drift, scarce broken now of any, Out of the dark thy windows dim and many Gleam red across the storm. Sound is there none,...
How deep the April night is in its noon, The hopeful, solemn, many-murmured night! The earth lies hushed with expectation; bright Above the world's dark border burns the moon,...
With loitering step and quiet eye, Beneath the low November sky, I wandered in the woods, and found A clearing, where the broken ground Was scattered with black stumps and briers,...
The hills and leafless forests slowly yield To the thick-driving snow. A little while And night shall darken down. In shouting file The woodmen's carts go by me homeward-wheeled,...
Mother of balms and soothings manifold, Quiet-breath'd night whose brooding hours are seven, To whom the voices of all rest are given, And those few stars whose scattered names are told,...
Once on the year's last eve in my mind's might Sitting in dreams, not sad, nor quite elysian, Balancing all 'twixt wonder and derision, Methought my body and all this world took flight,...