Would that in body and spirit Shakespeare came Visible emperor of the deeds of Time, With Justice still the genius of his rhyme, Giving each man his due, each passion grace,...
In this, the City of my Discontent, Sometimes there comes a whisper from the grass, "Romance, Romance - is here. No Hindu town Is quite so strange. No Citadel of Brass...
Star of my heart, I follow from afar. Sweet Love on high, lead on where shepherds are, Where Time is not, and only dreamers are. Star from of old, the Magi-Kings are dead...
Would I might wake St. Francis in you all, Brother of birds and trees, God's Troubadour, Blinded with weeping for the sad and poor; Our wealth undone, all strict Franciscan men,...
Thou wilt not sentence to eternal life My soul that prays that it may sleep and sleep Like a white statue dropped into the deep, Covered with sand, covered with chests of gold,...
"How, how," he said. "Friend Chang," I said, "San Francisco sleeps as the dead - Ended license, lust and play: Why do you iron the night away? Your big clock speaks with a deadly sound,...
"Yes," said the sister with the little pinched face, The busy little sister with the funny little tract: - "This is the climax, the grand fifth act. There rides the proud, at the finish of his race....
"Give the engines room, Give the engines room." Louder, faster The little band-master Whips up the fluting, Hurries up the tooting. He thinks that he stands,...
A thousand times ten thousand times More swift than the sun's swift light Were the Morning Wings in their flight On - On - West of the Universe, Thro' the West To Chaos-night.
The North Star whispers: "You are one Of those whose course no chance can change. You blunder, but are not undone, Your spirit-task is fixed and strange.
"Down cellar," said the cricket, "I saw a ball last night In honor of a lady Whose wings were pearly-white. The breath of bitter weather Had smashed the cellar pane:...
I asked the old Negro, "What is that bird that sings so well?" He answered: "That is the Rachel-Jane." "Hasn't it another name, lark, or thrush, or the like?" "No. Jus' Rachel-Jane."
The old man had his box and wheel For grinding knives and shears. No doubt his bell in village streets Was joy to children's ears. And I bethought me of my youth When such men came around,...