I heard a voice upon the window beat And then grow dim, grow still. Opening I saw the snowy sill Marked with the robin's feet. Chill was the air and chill The thoughts that in my bosom beat. ...
In thin clear light unshadowed shapes go by Small on green fields beneath the hueless sky. They do not stay for question, do not hear Any old human speech: their tongue and ear...
Winter was weary. All his snows were failing-- Still from his stiff grey head he shook the rime Upon the grasses, bushes and broad hedges, But all was lost in the new touch of Time. ...
Here in the shade of the tree The hours go by Silent and swift, Lightly as birds fly. Then the deep clouds broaden and drift, Or the cloudless darkness and the worn moon....
For so long and so long had I forgot, Serenely busied With thousand things; at whiles desire grew hot And my soul dizzied With hapless and insatiable salt thirst. Nor was I humbled...
Under the linden branches They sit and whisper; Hardly a quiver Of leaves, hardly a lisp or Sigh in the air. Under the linden branches They sit, and shiver At the slow air's fingers...
Gentle as the air that kisses The splendid and ignoble with one breath, Gentle as obliterating Death-- Though you be gentler yet, In days when the old, old things begin to fret...