It is over. What is over? Nay, now much is over truly!— Harvest days we toiled to sow for; Now the sheaves are gathered newly… Now the wheat is garnered duly.
Two gaz’d into a pool, he gaz’d an… Not hand in hand, yet heart in hea… Pale and reluctant on the water’s… AS on the brink of parting which… Each eyed the other’s aspect, she…
It’s a weary life, it is, she said… Doubly blank in a woman’s lot: I wish and I wish I were a man: Or, better then any being, were no… Were nothing at all in all the wor…
What is pink? a rose is pink By a fountain’s brink. What is red? a poppy’s red In its barley bed. What is blue? the sky is blue
A cold wind stirs the blackthorn To burgeon and to blow, Besprinkling half—green hedges With flakes and sprays of snow. Through coldness and through keenn…
I have a little husband And he is gone to sea, The winds that whistle round his s… Fly home to me. The winds that sigh about me
“Too late for love, too late for j… Too late, too late! You loitered on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch
Three sang of love together: one w… Crimson, with cheeks and bosom in… Flushed to the yellow hair and fin… And one there sang who soft and sm… Bloomed like a tinted hyacinth at…
Where sunless rivers weep Their waves into the deep, She sleeps a charmed sleep: Awake her not. Led by a single star,
If hope grew on a bush, And joy grew on a tree, What a nosegay for the plucking There would be! But oh! in windy autumn,
Motherless baby and babyless mothe… Bring them together to love one an…
Our little baby fell asleep, And may not wake again For days and days, and weeks and w… But then he’ll wake again, And come with his own pretty look,
Lord Jesus, who would think that… Ah, who would think Who sees me ready to turn back or… That Thou art mine? I cannot hold Thee fast though Th…
I love and love not: Lord, it bre… To love and not to love. Thou veiled within Thy glory, gon… Into Thy shrine, which is above, Dost Thou not love me, Lord, or c…
I cannot tell you how it was, But this I know: it came to pass Upon a bright and sunny day When May was young; ah, pleasant… As yet the poppies were not born