I Lover of beauty, walking on the height Of pure philosophy and tranquil song; Born to behold the visions that belong To those who dwell in melody and light; Milton, thou spirit delicate and
If on the closed curtain of my sight My fancy paints thy portrait far away, I see thee still the same, by night or day; Crossing the crowded street, or moving bright ‘Mid festal
I put my heart to school In the world, where men grow wise, “Go out,” I said, “and learn the rule; Come back when you win a prize.” My heart came back again: “Now
All night long, by a distant bell, The passing hours were notched On the dark, while her breathing rose and fell, And the spark of life I watched In her face was glowing or
Thou warden of the western gate, above Manhatten Bay, The fogs of doubt that hid thy face are driven clean away: Thine eyes at last look far and clear, thou liftest high thy hand
The fire of love was burning, yet so low That in the dark we scarce could see its rays, And in the light of perfect-placid days Nothing but smouldering embers dull and slow. Vainly,
I love the hour that comes, with dusky hair And dewy feet, along the Alpine dells To lead the cattle forth. A thousand bells Go chiming after her across the fair And flowery uplands,
For that thy face is fair I love thee not; Nor yet because the light of thy brown eyes Hath gleams of wonder and of glad surprise, Like woodland streams that cross a sunlit
In the pleasant time of Pentecost, By the little river Kyll, I followed the angler’s winding path Or waded the stream at will, And the friendly fertile German land Lay round me green and
AUGUST 17, 1914 The gabled roofs of old Malines Are russet red and gray and green, And o’er them in the sunset hour Looms, dark and huge, St. Rombold’s tower. High in that rugged
O who will walk a mile with me Along life’s merry way? A comrade blithe and full of glee, Who dares to laugh out loud and free, And let his frolic fancy play, Like
I think of thee, when golden sunbeams shimmer Across the sea; And when the waves reflect the moon’s pale glimmer, I think of thee. I see thy form, when down the distant highway The
I envy every flower that blows Along the meadow where she goes, And every bird that sings to her, And every breeze that brings to her The fragrance of the rose. I envy every
I Ah, who will tell me, in these leaden days, Why the sweet Spring delays, And where she hides, the dear desire Of every heart that longs For bloom, and fragrance, and the ruby
Children of the elemental mother, Born upon some lonely island shore Where the wrinkled ripples run and whisper, Where the crested billows plunge and roar; Long-winged, tireless roamers and adventurers, Fearless breasters of the