Come to me in the silence of the n… Come in the speaking silence of a… Come with soft rounded cheeks and… As sunlight on a stream; Come back in tears,
What do the stars do Up in the sky, Higher than the wind can blow, Or the clouds can fly? Each star in its own glory
The summer nights are short Where northern days are long: For hours and hours lark after lar… Trills out his song. The summer days are short
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…
Promise me no promises, So will I not promise you: Keep we both our liberties, Never false and never true: Let us hold the die uncast,
As violets so be I recluse and sw… Cheerful as daisies unaccounted ra… Still sunward—gazing from a lowly… Still sweetening wintry air. While half—awakened Spring lags i…
What are heavy? Sea—sand and sorr… What are brief? To—day and to—mor… What are frail? Spring blossoms a… What are deep? The ocean and trut…
When a mounting skylark sings In the sunlit summer morn, I know that heaven is up on high, And on earth are fields of corn. But when a nightingale sings
Hopping frog, hop here and be seen… I’ll not pelt you with stick or st… Your cap is laced and your coat is… Good bye, we’ll let each other alo… Plodding toad, plod here and be lo…
Oh, pleasant eventide! Clouds on the western side Grow grey and greyer, hiding the w… The bees and birds, their happy la… Seek their close nests and bide.
If I might only love my God and d… But now He bids me love Him and l… Now when the bloom of all my life… The pleasant half of life has quit… My tree of hope is lopped that spr…
Stroke a flint, and there is nothi… Strike a flint, and forthwith flas…
Did any bird come flying After Adam and Eve, When the door was shut against the… And they sat down to grieve? I think not Eve’s peacock
Live all thy sweet life through, Sweet Rose, dew—sprent, Drop down thine evening dew To gather it anew When day is bright:
Oh the rose of keenest thorn! One hidden summer morn Under the rose I was born. I do not guess his name Who wrought my Mother’s shame,