I saw a name carved on a tree— ‘Julia’; A simpler name there could not be— Julia: But seeing it I seemed to see

Land-Marks The way is rock and rubbish to a r… That leads through woods of stunte… Into a valley that no flower adorn… One mass of blackened brier; overf…

The sunset-crimson poppies are dep… Mariana! The dusky-centred, sultry-smelling… The drowsy-hearted, That burnt like flames along the g…

The frogs still cry, ‘Knee-deep!… Among its starlit pools, When dark the woodland lies asleep… And dusk its water cools: The fireflies round its bank of fe…

Why speak of Giamschid rubies Whence rosy starlight drips? I know a richer crimson, The ruby of her lips. Why speak of pearls of Oman

When dusk falls cool as a rained-o… And a tawny tower the twilight sho… With the crescent moon, the silver… A turret window that grows a-light… There is a path that my Fancy kno…

Where, through the myriad leaves o… The daylight falls, beryl and chry… The glamour and the glimmer of its… Seem visible music, tangible melod… Light that is music; music that on…

Winds that cavern heaven and the c… And canyon with cerulean blue, Great rifts down which the stormy… Like some bright seraph, who, Mailed in intensity of silver mail…

How good it is, when overwrought, To seek the woods and find a thoug… That to the soul’s attentive sense Delivers much in evidence Of truths for which man long has s…

In the waste places, in the dreadf… When the wood whispers like a wand… And silence sits and listens to th… Or, 'mid the rocks, to some wild t… Bat-browed thou wadest with thy wi…

Not into these dark cities, These sordid marts and streets, That the sun in his rising pities, And the moon with sorrow greets, Does she, with her dreams and flow…

Where are they, that song and tale Tell of? lands our childhood knew? Sea-locked Faerylands that trail Morning summits, dim with dew, Crimson o’er a crimson sail.

And he had mused on lands each bir… That winged from realms of Faleri… O’er seas of the Enchanted Sword, In romance sang him, till he heard Vague foam on Islands of Alcina.

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…

Out in Oldham County once Met a boy who showed me how He could milk an old red cow. Yes; he was n’t any dunce. Put me on an old-gray mare;