Where rise the brakes of bramble t… Wrapped with the trailing rose; Through cane where waters ramble,… Where deep the sword-grass grows, Who knows?

Ere wild-haws, looming in the gloo… Build bolted drifts of breezy bloo… And in the whistling hollow there The red-bud bends, as brown and ba… As buxom Roxy’s up-stripped arm;

What magic through your snowy crys… Your hollow spar, Spring brims wi… That, like the cup of Comus, drug… This woodland place, so drowsed wi… What miracle evolved you from the…

Dormered and verandaed, cool, Locust-girdled, on the hill; Stained with weather—wear, and dul… Streak’d with lichens; every sill Thresholding the beautiful;

In heavens of riveted blue, that s… With glaucous flame, deep in the w… Stands Midas-like; or, wading on… Touches with splendor all the twil… Each cloud that, like a stepping-s…

Far down the lane A window pane Gleams 'mid the trees through nigh… The weeds are dense Through which a fence

O Days that hold us; and years th… And dreams and mem’ries no time de… Where lie the islands, the morning… And where the highlands we knew wh… Oh, tell us, whether the happy hea…

I Have not seen her face, and yet She is more sweet than any thing Of Earth than rose or violet That Mayday winds and sunbeams br… Of all we know, past or to come,

The day is dead; and in the west The slender crescent of the moon Diana’s crystal-kindled crest Sinks hillward in a silvery swoon. What is the murmur in the dell?

The road leads up a hill through m… Blueberry and barberry, bay and sa… By an abandoned quarry, where, lik… A round pool lies; an isolated lak… A mirror for what presences, that…

Dull, dimly gleaming, The dawn looks downward Where, flowing townward, The river, steaming With mist, is hidden:

Over the roar of cities, Over the hush of the hills, Mounts ever a song that never stop… A voice that never stills. Epic-loud as the sea is,

Dweller in hollow places, hills an… Daughter of Silence and old Solit… Tip-toe she stands within her cave… Her only life the noises that she…

There’s nothing to do in the morni… Till it’s time to get up and dress… Till my nurse comes in to button a… And dress me more or less: Then it’s time to get up, get up,…

The trees took on fantastic shapes That night when I came to the gra… The very bushes seemed to change; This seemed a hag’s head, that an… The road itself seemed darkly stra…