Violets and leaves of vine, Into a frail, fair wreath We gather and entwine: A wreath for Love to wear, Fragrant as his own breath, To crown his brow divine, All day till night is near....
I was always a lover of ladies' hands! Or ever mine heart came here to tryst, For the sake of your carved white hands' commands; The tapering fingers, the dainty wrist;...
Let us go hence: the night is now at hand; The day is overworn, the birds all flown; And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land,...
When this, our rose, is faded, And these, our days, are done, In lands profoundly shaded From tempest and from sun: Ah, once more come together, Shall we forgive the past,...
Beyond the pale of memory, In some mysterious dusky grove; A place of shadows utterly, Where never coos the turtle-dove, A world forgotten of the sun: I dreamed we met when day was done,...
Neobule, being tired, Far too tired to laugh or weep, From the hours, rosy and gray, Hid her golden face away. Neobule, fain of sleep, Slept at last as she desired!
Pale amber sunlight falls across The reddening October trees, That hardly sway before a breeze As soft as summer: summer's loss Seems little, dear! on days like these. ...
If we must part, Then let it be like this; Not heart on heart, Nor with the useless anguish of a kiss; But touch mine hand and say: "Until to-morrow or some other day, If we must part." ...
Here, where the breath of the scented-gorse floats through the sun-stained air, On a steep hill-side, on a grassy ledge, I have lain hours long and heard Only the faint breeze pass in a whisper like a prayer,...
Shall one be sorrowful because of love, Which hath no earthly crown, Which lives and dies, unknown? Because no words of his shall ever move Her maiden heart to own...
They sleep well here, These fisher-folk who passed their anxious days In fierce Atlantic ways; And found not there, Beneath the long curled wave, So quiet a grave.
Dew on her robe and on her tangled hair; Twin dewdrops for her eyes; behold her pass, With dainty step brushing the young, green grass, The while she trills some high, fantastic air,...
Calm, sad, secure; behind high convent walls, These watch the sacred lamp, these watch and pray: And it is one with them when evening falls, And one with them the cold return of day. ...