Ah! did you ever hear the Spring Calling you through the snow, Or hear the little blackbird sing Inside its egg - or go To that green land where grass begins, Each tiny seed, to grow? ...
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,...
Like winds that with the setting of the sun Draw to a quiet murmuring and cease, So is her little struggle fought and done; And the brief fever and the pain In a last sigh fade out and so release...
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. ...
I thought, before my sunlit twentieth year, That I knew Love, and Death that goes with it; And my young broken heart in little songs, Dew-like, I poured, and waited for my end...
The afternoon is lonely for your face, The pampered morning mocks the day's decline - I was so rich at noon, the sun was mine, Mine the sad sea that in that rocky place...
But, Song, arise thee on a greater wing, Nor twitter robin-like of love, nor sing A pretty dalliance with grief - but try Some metre like a sky, Wherein to set Stars that may linger yet...
I make this rhyme of my lady and me To give me ease of my misery, Of my lady and me I make this rhyme For lovers in the after-time. And I weave its warp from day to day In a golden loom deep hid away...
Once we met, and then there came Like a Pentecostal flame, A word; And I said not, Only thought, She heard! All I never say but sing, Worshipping; Wrapt in the hidden tongue...
Two stars once on their lonely way Met in the heavenly height, And they dreamed a dream they might shine alway With undivided light; Melt into one with a breathless throe, And beam as one in the night....
Yea, let me be 'thy bachelere,' 'Tis sweeter than thy lord; How should I envy him, my dear, The lamp upon his board. Still make his little circle bright With boon of dear domestic light,...
Why did she marry him? Ah, say why! How was her fancy caught? What was the dream that he drew her by, Or was she only bought? Gave she her gold for a girlish whim, A freak of a foolish mood?...
'The daffodils are fine this year,' I said; 'O yes, but see my crocuses,' said she. And so we entered in and sat at talk Within a little parlour bowered about With garden-noises, filled with garden scent,...
Down where the unconquered river still flows on, One strong free thing within a prison's heart, I drew me with my sacred grief apart, That it might look that spacious joy upon:...
O Lady, I have looked on thee once more, Thou too hast looked on me, as thou hadst said, And though the joy was pain, the pain was bliss, Bliss that more happy lovers well may miss:...