Summer evenings, when it's warm, In the yard we sit and swing: And it's better than a farm, Watching how the fireflies swarm, Listening to the crickets sing, And the katydids that cry,...
There is no flower of wood or lea, No April flower, as fair as she: O white anemone, who hast The wind's wild grace, Know her a cousin of thy race, Into whose face...
Onward he gallops through enchanted gloom. The spectres of the forest, dark and dim, And shadows of vast death environ him Onward he spurs victorious over doom. Before his eyes that love's far fires illume...
There is a poetry that speaks Through common things: the grasshopper, That in the hot weeds creaks and creaks, Says all of summer to my ear: And in the cricket's cry I hear...
I had not found the road too short, As once I had in days of youth, In that old forest of long ruth, Where my young knighthood broke its heart, Ere love and it had come to part,...
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,...
In green sea-caverns dim, Deep down, A monarch pale and slim, Whose soul's a frown, He ruleth cold and grim In foamy crown: In green sea-caverns dim, Deep down.