Hush! We're not a pack of boys Always bound to make a noise. True, there's one amongst us, but He is young; And, wherever we may take him, We can generally shut Such a youngster up and make him...
My door is always left ajar, Lest you should suddenly slip through, A little breathless frightened star; Each footfall sets my heart abeat, I always think it may be you, Stolen in from the street. ...
This is the tale the old men tell, the tale that was told to me, Of the blue-green dragon, The dreadful dragon, The dragon who flew so free, The last of his horrible scaly race...
My dryad hath her hiding place Among ten thousand trees. She flies to cover At step of a lover, And where to find her lovely face Only the woodland bees Ever discover, Bringing her honey...
I had no heart to join the dance, I danced it all so long ago - Ah! light-winged music out of France, Let other feet glide to and fro, Weaving new patterns of romance For bosoms of new-fallen snow....
O bird that somewhere yonder sings, In the dim hour 'twixt dreams and dawn, Lone in the hush of sleeping things, In some sky sanctuary withdrawn; Your perfect song is too like pain,...
And is it true indeed, and must you go, Set out alone across that moorland track, No love avail, though we have loved you so, No voice have any power to call you back?...
O loveliest face, on which we look our last - Not without hope we may again behold Somewhere, somehow, when we ourselves have passed Where, Lucy, you have gone, this face so dear,...
What of the darkness? Is it very fair? Are there great calms and find ye silence there? Like soft-shut lilies all your faces glow With some strange peace our faces never know,...
When the long day has faded to its end, The flowers gone, and all the singing done, And there is no companion left save Death - Ah! there is one, Though in her grave she lies this many a year,...
Who was it swept against my door just now, With rustling robes like Autumn's - was it thou? Ah! would it were thy gown against my door - Only thy gown once more. ...
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:...