Like some wild child that laughs a… Impatient of its mother’s arms, The wood brook from the hillside l… Eager to reach the neighboring far… Complaining crystal in its throat

WHAT shall her silence keep Under the sun? Here, where the willows weep And waters run; Here, where she lies asleep,

One night when trees were tumbled… And wild winds shook at sea the sa… Old Gammer Gaffer, lean and brown… Chuckled and whistled on her nail; Then seized her broom and, mountin…

This is the truth as I see it, my… Out in the wind and the rain: They who have nothing have little… Nothing to lose or to gain. Here by the road at the end o’ the…

Between the darkness and the day As, lost in doubt, I went my way, I met a shape, as faint as fair, With star-like blossoms in its hai… Its body, which the moon shone thr…

Deep in the hush of a mighty wood I came to a place of dread and dre… And forms of shadows, whose shapes… The searching swords of the sun’s… Builders of silence and solitude.

Once a charcoal wagon passed, And an old black charcoalman, ‘Blacker than a midnight blast,’ Mother said. And he began Crying, ‘Charcoal! charcoal!

Why have you come? to see me in my… A thing to spit on, to despise and… And then to ask me! You, by whom… And then cast by, like some vile r… What shelter could you give me, no…

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…

Oh, roses, roses everywhere but on… But one wild-rose for me, my boy,… My rose of roses, dear my lad, my… The world may keep its roses now,… Oh, song and singing everywhere; t…

As one, who, journeying westward w… Beholds at length from the up-towe… Far-off, a land unspeakable beauty… Circean peaks and vales of Avalon… And, sinking weary, watches, one b…

Ah, shall I follow, on the hills, The Spring, as wild wings follow? Where wild-plum trees make wan the… Crabapple trees the hollow, Haunts of the bee and swallow?

Take Heart Take heart again. Joy may be lost… It is not always Spring. And even now from some far Summer… Hither the birds may wing.

Small twilight singer Of dew and mist: thou ghost-gray,… Of dusk’s dim glimmer, How chill thy note sounds; how thy… Vibrate, soft-sighing,

From morn till noon upon the windo… The tempest tapped with rainy fing… And all the afternoon the blusteri… Beat at the door with furious feet… The rose, near which the lily bloo…