I would be dismal with all the fin… But I can talk plainly to you, yo… Here in the heart of September th… Of the hot happy sound of the shea… Soon would I tire of all riches o…

In the far days, when every day wa… Fear was upon me and the fear was… Ere I had learned the recompense… In the dim days I trembled, for I… God was above me, always frowning…

A pleasant shady place it is, a pl… The township folk go up and down,… Along the river lies my world, a d… I sit and learn - I cannot go; th… But Granny she has seen the world…

O HEART of Spring! Spirit of light and love and joyou… So soon to faint beneath the fiery… Still smiles the Earth, eager for… Welcome art thou, soever short thy…

THE STARS are pale. Old is the Night, his case is gri… His strength doth fail. Through stilly hours The dews have draped with love’s o…

When you go underground with all y… Your kindly lies and your ridiculo… You shall not ever fear to face ag… The strong man’s rage, the woman w… Nor song nor sigh will beat upon y…

YOU, AND YELLOW AIR by Jo… I dream of an old kissing-time And the flowered follies there; In the dim place of cherry-trees, Of you, and yellow air.

Fear it has faded and the night: The bells all peal the hour of nin… The schoolgirls hastening through… Touch the unknowable Divine. What leavening in my heart would b…

Oh ’twas a poor country, in Autum… The only green was the cutting gra… Oh, the thin wheat and the brown o… But down in the poor country no pa… My wealth it was the glow that liv…

Shyly the silver-hatted mushrooms… Soft entrance through, And undelivered lovers, half awake… Hear noises in the dew Yellow in all the earth and in the…

HAVE you ever been down to my co… Where the trees are green and tall… The days are long and the heavens… But the people there are small. There is no work there; it is alwa…

Let your song be delicate. The skies declare No war—the eyes of lovers Wake everywhere. Let your voice be delicate.

The young girl stood beside me. I Saw not what her young eyes cou… —A light, she said, not of the sky Lives somewhere in the Orange Tre… —Is it, I said, of east or west?

YOUR voice was the rugged old voice that I knew; I gave the best grip of my greeting to you. I knew not of your lips—

Ragged, unheeded, stooping, meanly… The poor pass to the pond: not far… The spires go up to God. Shyly they come from the unpainted… Coats have they made of old unhapp…