Gray pilgrim, you have journeyed f… I pray you tell to me Is there a land where Love is not… By shore of any sea? For I am weary of the god,

The birds are all a-building, They say the world’s a-flower, And still I linger lonely Within a barren bower. I weave a web of fancies

It is not a word spoken, Few words are said; Nor even a look of the eyes Nor a bend of the head, But only a hush of the heart

It will not hurt me when I am old… A running tide where moonlight bur… Will not sting me like silver snak… The years will make me sad and col… It is the happy heart that breaks.

I have come the selfsame path To the selfsame door, Years have left the roses there Burning as before While I watch them in the wind

We stood in the shrill electric li… Dumb and sick in the whirling din We who had all of love to say And a single second to say it in. “Good-by!” “Good-by!”—you turned…

Your face is set against a fervent… Before the thirsty hills that seve… Return the sun’s hot glory, gold o… Where Agamemnon and Cassandra lie… Your eyes are blind whose light sh…

This is the quiet hour; the theate… Have gathered in their crowds, and… The million lights blaze on for fe… Robbing the sky of stars that shou… A woman waits with bag and shabby…

Now at last I have come to see wh… Nothing is ever ended, everything… And the brave victories that seem… Are never really won. Even love that I built my spirit’…

You bound strong sandals on my fee… You gave me bread and wine, And sent me under sun and stars, For all the world was mine. Oh, take the sandals off my feet,

When I am dying, let me know That I loved the blowing snow Although it stung like whips; That I loved all lovely things And I tried to take their stings

What can I give you, my lord, my… You who have given the world to me… Showed me the light and the joy th… The wild sweet earth and the restl… All that I have are gifts of your…

When I have ceased to break my wi… Against the faultiness of things, And learned that compromises wait Behind each hardly opened gate, When I have looked Life in the ey…

I plucked a snow-drop in the sprin… And in my hand too closely pressed… The warmth had hurt the tender thi… I grieved to see it withering. I gave my love a poppy red,