In an old book I found her face Writ by a dead man long ago - I found, and then I lost the place; So nothing but her face I know, And her soft name writ fair below. ...
All the wide world is but the thought of you: Who made you out of wonder and of dew? Was it some god with tears in his deep eyes, Who loved a woman white and over-wise,...
The floating call of the cuckoo, Soft little globes of bosom-shaped sound, Came and went at the window; And, out in the great green world, Those maidens each morn the flowers...
Precious the box that Mary brake Of spikenard for her Master's sake, But ah! it held nought half so dear As the sweet dust that whitens here. The greater wonder who shall say:...
April is in the world again, And all the world is filled with flowers - Flowers for others, not for me! For my one flower I cannot see, Lost in the April showers.
As in the woodland I walk, many a strange thing I learn - How from the dross and the drift the beautiful things return, And the fires quenched in October in April reburn; ...
A battered swordsman, slashed and scarred, I scarce had thought to fight again, But love of the old game dies hard, So to't, my lady, if you're fain! I'm scarce the mettle to refrain,...
This is the year that has no Christmas Day, Even the little children must be told That something sad is happening far away - Or, if you needs must play, As children must,...
'Yes, Sir, she's gone at last - 'twas only five minutes ago We heard her sigh from her corner, - she sat in the kitchen, you know: We were all just busy on breakfast, John cleaning the boots, and I...
When the fierce bugle thrilled alarm, From lands apart these fighters came. An equal courage nerved each arm, And stirred each generous heart to flame.
Must I believe this beauty wholly gone That in her picture here so deathless seems, And must I henceforth speak of her as one Tells of some face of legend or of dreams,...
How fast the year is going by! Love, it will be September soon; O let us make the best of June. Already, love, it is July; The rose and honeysuckle go, And all too soon will come the snow. ...
This life I squander, hating the long days That will not bring me either Rest or Thee, This health I hack and ravage as with knives, These nerves I fain would shatter, and this heart...
I know not in what place again I'll meet The face I love - but there is not a street In the wide world where you can wander, sweet, Without my finding you, with those great eyes;...