God send thee peace, Oh, great unhappy heart-- A world away, I pray that thou mayst rest Softly as on the Well-Belov'd's breast, Where ever in her wistful dreams thou art. ...
My life has been like a bee that roves Through a scented garden close, And 'tis I who have kept the honey of love, The hoarded sweetness and scent thereof, For all I forget the rose. ...
Mothers of men--the words are good indeed in the saying, Pride in the very sound of them, strength in the sense of them, then Why is it their faces haunt me, wistful faces as praying...
I saw the old sea captain in his city daughter's house, Shaved till his chin was pink, and brushed till his hair was flat, In a broadcloth suit and varnished boots and a collar up to his ears....
Orchards in the Spring-time! Oh, I think and think of them,-- Filmy mists of pink and white above the fresh, young green, Lifting and drifting,--how my eyes could drink of them,...