Once I gave a 'poppa-show’: And I had the greatest fun! Every boy and girl I know That is, nearly every one, Came to see it: I just put

The cuckoo-sorrel paints with pink The green page of the meadow-land Around a pool where thrushes drink As from a hollowed hand. A hill, long-haired with leathered…

Here is a tale for proper men and… There was a woman once who had a d… A fair-faced wench, as stable as i… And frailer than the first spring… She did not need to work, but then…

All day the clouds hung ashen with… And through the snow the muffled w… The day seemed drowned in grief to… Like some old hermit whose last be… At eve the wind woke, and the snow…

A beardless crew we launched our l… Laughed at its lightness; joyed to… Veer in the wind, and, with the fr… Bend o’er the foaming prow the swo… No fears were ours within that sta…

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

There is no rhyme that is half so… As the song of the wind in the rip… There is no metre that’s half so f… As the lilt of the brook under roc… And the loveliest lyric I ever he…

On southern winds shot through wit… Breathing soft balm and clothed in… The lily-fingered Spring came o’e… Waking the crocus and the daffodil… O’er the cold Earth she breathed…

There’s a little fairy who Peeps from every dropp of dew: You can see him wink and shine On the morning-glory vine, Mischief in his eye of blue.

The deep seclusion of this forest… O’er which the green boughs weave… Along which bluet and anemone Spread dim a carpet; where the Tw… Her cool abode; and, sweet as afte…

Who is she, like the spring, who c… From the hills to the smoke-huddle… With her peach-petal face And her wildflower grace, Bringing sunshine and gladness to…

The day, all fierce with carmine,… An Indian face towards Earth and… The west, like some gaunt vase, in… Its ashes under smouldering skies, Athwart whose bowl one red cloud s…

How often hope’s fair flower bloom… The soul was fertilized with black…

Between the death of day and birth… By War’s red light, I met with one in trailing sorrows… Whose features had The look of Him who died to set m…

Those hewers of the clouds, the W… At the four compass-points,-are ou… I hear their sandals trample on th… I hear their voices trumpet throug… Builders of storm, God’s workmen,…