I thought it was the little bed I slept in long ago; A straight white curtain at the he… And two smooth knobs below. I thought I saw the nursery fire,

Amy Margaret’s five years old, Amy Margaret’s hair is gold, Dearer twenty-thousand-fold Than gold, is Amy Margaret. “Amy” is friend, is “Margaret”

O pale green sea, With long, pale, purple clouds abo… What lies in me like weight of lov… What dies in me With utter grief, because there co…

Gold tassel upon March’s bugle-ho… Whose blithe reveille blows from h… And every valley rings—O Daffodil… What promise for the season newly… Shall wave on wave of flow’rs, ful…

I once was a guest at a Nobleman’… Fair was the Bride, but she scarc… And now in our mirth, she had tear… Her former true lover still runs i… Attired like a minstrel, her forme…

A wild west Coast, a little Town, Where little Folk go up and down, Tides flow and winds blow: Night and Tempest and the Sea, Human Will and Human Fate:

In early morning twilight, raw and… Damp vapours brooding on the barre… Through miles of mire in steady gr… Threescore well-arm’d police pursu… Each tall and bearded man a rifle…

Here the white-ray’d anemone is bo… Wood-sorrel, and the varnish’d but… And primrose in its purfled green… Pallid and sweet round every buddi… Gray ash, and beech with rusty lea…

A man there came, whence none coul… Bearing a Touchstone in his hand; And tested all things in the land By its unerring spell. Quick birth of transmutation smote

Little Cowboy, what have you hear… Up on the lonely rath’s green moun… Only the plaintive yellow bird Sighing in sultry fields around, Chary, chary, chary, chee—ee!—

Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren’t go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk,

A fair witch crept to a young man’… And he kiss’d her and took her for… But a Shape came in at the dead o… And fill’d the room with snowy lig… And he saw how in his arms there l…

I’m glad I am alive, to see and f… The full deliciousness of this bri… That’s like a heart with nothing t… The young leaves scarcely tremblin… Rimming the cloudless ether far aw…

That which he did not feel, he wou… What most he felt, religion it was… In a dumb darkling grotto, where t… Of tremulous tears, arising unespi… Became a holy well that durst not…

Is always Age severe? Is never Youth austere? Spring-fruits are sour to eat; Autumn’s the mellow time. Nay, very late in the year,