I wonder if with you, as it is with me, If under your slipping words, that easily flow About you as a garment, easily, Your violent heart beats to and fro!
If being near the fire I burned with it, Now that its flame is quenched and doth not show, What wonder if I waste within and glow, Dwindling away to cinders bit by bit? ...
Another night has turned itself to day, Another day has melted into eve, And lo! again I tread the measured way Of word and thought, the twain to interweave, As flowers absorb the rays that they receive....
Come closer, kind, white, long-familiar friend, Embrace me, fold me to thy broad, soft breast. Life has grown strange and cold, but thou dost bend Mild eyes of blessing wooing to my rest....
Rain will fall on the fading flowers, Winds will blow through the dripping tree, When Fall leads in her tattered Hours With Death to keep them company. All night long in the weeping weather,...
"Child of my love, why wearest thou That pensive look and thoughtful brow? Can'st gaze abroad on this world so fair And yet thy glance be fraught with care? Roses still bloom in glowing dyes,...
Agnes went through the meadows a-weeping, Fowl are a-singing. There stood the hill-man heed thereof keeping. Agnes, fair Agnes! "Come to the hill, fair Agnes, with me,...
It wor Kursmiss day, - we wor ready for fun, Th' puddin wor boil'd an th' rooast beef wor done; Th' ale wor i'th' cellar, an th' spice-cake i'th' bin, An th' cheese wor just lively enuff to walk in....
The chime of silver bells; the sweet Wild rush of fairy wings and feet; The fluting birds of dawn; the small And crystal music of the waterfall. Or piping of some lone and hidden faun;...
O thou, who kindly dost provide For every creature's want! We bless thee, God of Nature wide, For all thy goodness lent: And if it please thee, Heavenly Guide, May never worse be sent;...
Long vollies of wind and of rain And the rain on the drizzled pane, And the eve falls chill and murk; But on yesterday's eve I know How a horned moon's thorn-like bow...
Grey drizzling mists the moorlands drape, Rain whitens the dead sea, From headland dim to sullen cape Grey sails creep wearily. I know not how that merchantman Has found the heart; but 't is her plan...
One Sunday morning - service done - 'Mongst tombstones shining in the sun, A knot of bumpkins stood to chat Of that and this, and this and that; What people said of Polly Hatch -...
Low mourned the Oread round the Arcadian hills; The Naiad murmured and the Dryad moaned; The meadow-maiden left her daffodils To join the Hamadryades who groaned Over a sister newly fallen dead....