Earth bears her sorrow gladly, lik… Her young face glowing through the… The storms that threaten her, the… Kindle a deeper color. She has wo… Graces that please the high-enthro…

E. H. M. Nov. 17th, 1890—Feb. 13th, 1904 Still he lies, Pale, wan, and strangely wise. Under the white coverlet

What am I? I am Earth the mother… With all her nebulous memories; And the young Day, and Night her… And every god that was and is. As Eve I walked in paradise,

To the California Sierra Club Come climb the mountain trails wit… Where pine-trees plume the sky, Where snowy peaks salute the sea When herald winds pass by.

Look on the dead. Stately and pur… Under the white sheet’s marble fol… The solemn bier, the scented chamb… The sacred hush, the bowed heads o… The slow pomp, the majestical disg…

Oh, hero of our younger race! Great builder of a temple new! Ruler, who sought no lordly place! Warrior who sheathed the sword he… Lover of men, who saw afar

The ox-team and the automobile Stood face to face on the long red… The long red road was narrow At the turn of the hill, And below was the sun-dancing rive…

O Love, my love, it’s over then— Your heart flies free; And it’s now no more us two again, The door on you and me. And it’s now no more the supper sp…

You are a painter—listen— I’ll paint you a picture too! Of the long white lights that glis… Through Michigan Avenue; With the red lights down the middl…

I See the snow-drops flutter Their white wings in the gale. I hear the robin utter On high his gallant tale. Look where the rash wind chases

The little world span round and ro… Singing along her sunny ways, And all the glory she unwound She gave to him for joy and praise… And he, whom lavish morning met

O Mother of that heap of clay, so… Now do you stare at death, woman,… Now do you long to fare afar, and… Where he must wander all alone, hi… But I now, but I now—

Little brown surf-bather of the mo… Spirit of foam, lover of cataracts… Have you no fear of the roar and r… Nevada, the shapely dancer, feelin… How dare you dash at Yosemite the…

After the months of torpor, Weakness and ache and strain, After this day’s deep drowning In stormy seas of pain— To feel your hand, my baby,

What has bent you, Warped and twisted you, Torn and crippled you? What has embittered you, O lonely tree?