Dedication
MY first gift and my last, to you I dedicate this fascicle of songs – The only wealth I have: Just as they are, to you. I speak the truth in soberness, and say
Apologetic Postscript Of A Year Later
IF you see this song, my dear, And last year’s toast, I’m confoundedly in fear You’ll be serious and severe About the boast. Blame not that I sought such aid To cure regret. I
At the Sea-Side
When I was down beside the sea A wooden spade they gave to me To dig the sandy shore. My holes were empty like a cup. In every hole the sea came up, Till
Fixed Is The Doom
FIXED is the doom; and to the last of years Teacher and taught, friend, lover, parent, child, Each walks, though near, yet separate; each beholds His dear ones shine beyond him like the stars.
The Gardener
The gardener does not love to talk, He makes me keep the gravel walk; And when he puts his tools away, He locks the door and takes the key. Away behind the currant row
Singing
Of speckled eggs the birdie sings And nests among the trees; The sailor sings of ropes and things In ships upon the seas. The children sing in far Japan, The children sing in Spain;
What Man May Learn, What Man May Do
WHAT man may learn, what man may do, Of right or wrong of false or true, While, skipper-like, his course he steers Through nine and twenty mingled years, Half misconceived and half forgot, So
In The States
With half a heart I wander here As from an age gone by A brother yet – though young in years, An elder brother, I. You speak another tongue than mine, Though both were
My Heart, When First The Black-Bird Sings
MY heart, when first the blackbird sings, My heart drinks in the song: Cool pleasure fills my bosom through And spreads each nerve along. My bosom eddies quietly, My heart is stirred and cool
Romance
I WILL make you brooches and toys for your delight Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night. I will make a palace fit for you and me, Of green days in forests and
Foreign Lands
Up into the cherry tree Who should climb but little me? I held the trunk with both my hands And looked abroad in foreign lands. I saw the next door garden lie, Adorned with
Farewell to the Farm
The coach is at the door at last; The eager children, mounting fast And kissing hands, in chorus sing: Good-bye, good-bye, to everything! To house and garden, field and lawn, The meadow-gates we swang
About The Sheltered Garden Ground
ABOUT the sheltered garden ground The trees stand strangely still. The vale ne’er seemed so deep before, Nor yet so high the hill. An awful sense of quietness, A fulness of repose, Breathes from
Good and Bad Children
Children, you are very little, And your bones are very brittle; If you would grow great and stately, You must try to walk sedately. You must still be bright and quiet, And content with
If This Were Faith
God, if this were enough, That I see things bare to the buff And up to the buttocks in mire; That I ask nor hope nor hire, Nut in the husk, Nor dawn beyond