The Sea to the Shore
Lo, I have loved thee long, long have I yearned and entreated! Tell me how I may win thee, tell me how I must woo. Shall I creep to thy white feet, in guise
November Evening
Come, for the dusk is our own; let us fare forth together, With a quiet delight in our hearts for the ripe, still, autumn weather, Through the rustling valley and wood and over the
Genius
A hundred generations have gone into its making, With all their love and tenderness, with all their dreams and tears; Their vanished joy and pleasure, their pain and their heart-breaking, Have colored this rare
Harbor Dawn
There’s a hush and stillness calm and deep, For the waves have wooed all the winds to sleep In the shadow of headlands bold and steep; But some gracious spirit has taken the cup
In the Days of the Golden Rod
Across the meadow in brooding shadow I walk to drink of the autumn’s wine The charm of story, the artist’s glory, To-day on these silvering hills is mine; On height, in hollow, where’er I
My Legacy
My friend has gone away from me From shadow into perfect light, But leaving a sweet legacy. My heart shall hold it long in fee A grand ideal, calm and bright, A song of
September
Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days Gleaned by the year in autumn’s harvest ways, With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember, Some crimson poppy of a late delight Atoning in its
Out o'Doors
There’s a gypsy wind across the harvest land, Let us fare forth with it lightly hand in hand; Where cloud shadows blow across the sunwarm waste, And the first red leaves are falling let
When the Fishing Boats Go Out
When the lucent skies of morning flush with dawning rose once more, And waves of golden glory break adown the sunrise shore, And o’er the arch of heaven pied films of vapor float. There’s
My Longshore Lass
Far in the mellow western sky, Above the restless harbor bar, A beacon on the coast of night, Shines out a calm, white evening star; But your deep eyes, my ‘longshore lass, Are brighter,
A Summer Day
I The dawn laughs out on orient hills And dances with the diamond rills; The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs The silken, beaded gossamers; In the wide valleys, lone and fair, Lyrics are piped
In an Old Town Garden
Shut from the clamor of the street By an old wall with lichen grown, It holds apart from jar and fret A peace and beauty all its own. The freshness of the springtime rains
A Winter Day
I The air is silent save where stirs A bugling breeze among the firs; The virgin world in white array Waits for the bridegroom kiss of day; All heaven blooms rarely in the east
Come, Rest Awhile
Come, rest awhile, and let us idly stray In glimmering valleys, cool and far away. Come from the greedy mart, the troubled street, And listen to the music, faint and sweet, That echoes ever
As the Heart Hopes
It is a year dear one, since you afar Went out beyond my yearning mortal sight A wondrous year! perchance in many a star You have sojourned, or basked within the light Of mightier