In England there are wrongs, no doubt, Which should be righted; so men say, Who seek to weed earth's garden out And give the roses right of way. Yes, right of way to fruit and rose,...
Love is enough. Let us not ask for gold. Wealth breeds false aims, and pride, and selfishness; In those serene, Arcadian days of old Men gave no thought to princely homes and dress....
The Radiant Rulers of Mystic Regions Where souls of artists are fitted for birth Gathered together their lovely legions And fashioned a woman to shine on earth. They bathed her in splendour,...
O thou, mine other, stronger part! Whom yet I cannot hear, or see, Come thou, and take this loving heart, That longs to yield its all to thee, I call mine own - Oh, come to me!...
I stand in the blaze of the candle rays, While my merry maidens three Arrange each tress, and loop my dress, And render me fair to see. But oh! for the eyes that never again...
Two thousand years had passed since Christ was born, When suddenly there rose a mighty host Of women, sweeping to a central goal As many rivers sweep on to the sea....
I held the golden vessel of my soul And prayed that God would fill it from on high. Day after day the importuning cry Grew stronger - grew, a heaven-accusing dole Because no sacred waters laved my bowl....
The birds laugh loud and long together When Fashion's followers speed away At the first cool breath of autumn weather. Why, this is the time, cry the birds, to stay!...
Into the gloom of the deep, dark night, With panting breath and a startled scream; Swift as a bird in sudden flight Darts this creature of steel and steam.
Born in the flesh, and bred in the bone, Some of us harbour still A New World pride: and we flaunt or hide The Spirit of Bunker Hill. We claim our place, as a separate race, Or a self-created clan;...
Time with his back against the mighty wall, Which hides from view all future joy and sorrow, Hears, without answer, the impatient call Of puny man, to tell him of to-morrow. ...
There is no thing we cannot overcome Say not thy evil instinct is inherited, Or that some trait inborn makes thy whole life forlorn, And calls down punishment that is not merited. ...
The bold young Autumn came riding along One day where an elm-tree grew. "You are fair," he said, as she bent down her head, "Too fair for your robe's dull hue. You are far too young for a garb so old;...
Here in my cosy corner, Before a blazing log, I'm thinking of cold London Wrapped in its killing fog; And, like a shining beacon Above the picture grim, I see the London 'Bobby,'...
Is it the world, or my eyes, that are sadder? I see not the grace that I used to see In the meadow-brook whose song was so glad, or In the boughs of the willow tree....