An angel saw me sitting by a brook, Pleased with the silence, and the melodies Of wind and water which did fall and rise: He gently stirred his plumes and from them shook...
Summer is come again. The sun is bright, And the soft wind is breathing. Airy joy Is sparkling in thine eyes, and in their light My soul is shining. Come; our day's employ...
Is there a secret Joy, that may not weep, For every flower that ends its little span, For every child that groweth up to man, For every captive bird a cage doth keep, For every aching eye that went to sleep...
I have not any fearful tale to tell Of fabled giant or of dragon-claw, Or bloody deed to pilfer and to sell To those who feed, with such, a gaping maw; But what in yonder hamlet there befell,...
O do not leave me, mother, lest I weep; Till I forget, be near me in that chair. The mother's presence leads her down to sleep-- Leaves her contented there.
Loosener of springs, he died by thee! Softness, not hardness, sent him home; He loved thee--and thou mad'st him free Of all the place thou comest from!
This is the sweetness of an April day; The softness of the spring is on the face Of the old year. She has no natural grace, But something comes to her from far away ...
Said the boy as he read, "I too will be bold, I will fight for the truth and its glory!" He went to the playground, and soon had told A very cowardly story! ...
I cannot praise thee. By his instrument The master sits, and moves nor foot nor hand; For see the organ-pipes this, that way bent, Leaning, o'erthrown, like wheat-stalks tempest-fanned! ...
With us there is no gray fearing, With us no aching for lack! For the morn it is always nearing, And the night is at our back. At times a song will fall dumb, A thought-bell burst in a sigh,...
I shall be satisfied With the seeing of thy face. When I awake, wide-eyed, I shall be satisfied With what this life did hide, The one supernal grace! I shall be satisfied...
One do I see and twelve; but second there Methinks I know thee, thou beloved one; Not from thy nobler port, for there are none More quiet-featured: some there are who bear...
Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the yorlin sings, Wi' a clip o' the sunshine atween his wings; Whaur the birks are a' straikit wi' fair munelicht, And the brume hings its lamps by day and by nicht;...