All hushed of glee, The last chill bee Clings wearily To the dying aster. The leaves dropp faster:

He was not learned in any art; But Nature led him by the hand; And spoke her language to his hear… So he could hear and understand: He loved her simply as a child;

The sun sinks scarlet as a barberr… Far off at sea one vessel lifts a… Hurrying to harbor from the coming… That banks the west above a choppy… The sun is gone; the fide is flowi…

Beyond the barley meads and hay, What was the light that beckoned t… That made her sweet lips smile and… ‘Oh, busk me in a gown of May, And knot red poppies in my hair.’

Once I found an ant-lion’s hole And an ant-lion in it: nippers Like a pair of rusty clippers. And I saw a red ant roll In its pit, and, quick as Ned,

Behold a hag whom Life denies a k… As he rides questward in knighterr… Only when he hath passed her is it… To know, too late, the Fairy in d…

January Shaggy with skins of frost-furred… Harsh, hoary hair framing a bitter… He bends above the dead Year’s fi… Nursing the last few embers of its…

That day we wandered ‘mid the hill… Clouds are not lonelier, the fores… In emerald darkness round us. Man… And gnarly root, gray-mossed, made… And many a bird the glimmering lig…

There’s a story no one knows, But myself, about a rose And a fairy and a star Where the Toyland people are. Once when I had gone to bed,

The Voice of a Man WHAT of the Night, O Watcher? The Voice of a Woman Yea, what of it? The Watcher

The hat he wore was full of holes, And his battered shoes were worn t… His shirt was a rag, held together… And his trousers patched with outs… A negro tramp, a roustabout,

Upon the summit of his Century He reared a Palace of enduring Ar… From whose wild windows never more… Beauty’s pale light and starry fan… Within is music, sobbing ceaseless…

She stood among the longest ferns The valley held; and in her hand One blossom, like the light that b… Vermilion o’er a sunset land; And round her hair a twisted band

THERE is a smell of roses in the… Tea-roses, dead of bloom; An invalid, she sits there in the… And contemplates her doom. The pattern of the paper, and the…

Be of good cheer, and have no fear Of Fortune or Tomorrow: To Hope’s low whisper lend an ear And turn away from Sorrow. Time out of mind the soul is blind