Works

A summer's morning that has but one voice;
Five hundred stocks, like golden lovers, lean
Their heads together, in their quiet way,
And but one bird sings, of a number seen.
...

When our two souls have left this mortal clay
And, seeking mine, you think that mine is lost -
Look for me first in that Elysian glade
Where Lesbia is, for whom the birds sing most.
...

The bird that now
On bush and tree,
Near leaves so green
Looks down to see
Flowers looking up,
He either sings
In ecstasy
Or claps his wings.

Why should I slave
For finer dress...

It is the bell of death I hear,
Which tells me my own time is near,
When I must join those quiet souls
Where nothing lives but worms and moles;
And not come through the grass again,...

Man is a bird:
He rises on fine wings
Into the Heaven's clear light;
He flies away and sings,
There's music in his flight.

Man is a bird:
In swiftest speed he burns,...

Here comes Kate Summers, who, for gold,
Takes any man to bed:
"You knew my friend, Nell Barnes," she said;
"You knew Nell Barnes - she's dead.

"Nell Barnes was bad on all you men,...

Is it not fine to walk in spring,
When leaves are born, and hear birds sing?
And when they lose their singing powers,
In summer, watch the bees at flowers?
Is it not fine, when summer's past,...

When at each door the ruffian winds
Have laid a dying man to groan,
And filled the air on winter nights
With cries of infants left alone;
And every thing that has a bed...