Arabia
Far are the shades of Arabia, Where the Princes ride at noon, ‘Mid the verdurous vales and thickets, Under the ghost of the moon; And so dark is that vaulted purple Flowers in the
The Scribe
What lovely things Thy hand hath made: The smooth-plumed bird In its emerald shade, The seed of the grass, The speck of the stone Which the wayfaring ant Stirs and hastes on! Though I
Bones
Said Mr. Smith, “I really cannot Tell you, Dr. Jones- The most peculiar pain I’m in- I think it’s in my bones.” Said Dr. Jones, “Oh, Mr. Smith, That’s nothing. Without doubt We have
The Fool Rings His Bells
Come, Death, I’d have a word with thee; And thou, poor Innocency; And Love a lad with broken wing; Apnd Pity, too; The Fool shall sing to you, As Fools will sing. Ay, music
The Listeners
“Is there anybody there?” said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grass Of the forest’s ferny floor; And a bird flew up out of the
Miss Loo
When thin-strewn memory I look through, I see most clearly poor Miss Loo, Her tabby cat, her cage of birds, Her nose, her hair her muffled words, And how she’d open her green eyes,
The Ghost
Peace in thy hands, Peace in thine eyes, Peace on thy brow; Flower of a moment in the eternal hour, Peace with me now. Not a wave breaks, Not a bird calls, My heart,
Snow
No breath of wind, No gleam of sun – Still the white snow Whirls softly down Twig and bough And blade and thorn All in an icy Quiet, forlorn. Whispering, rustling, Through the air
All That's Past
Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier’s boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves
The Huntsmen
Three jolly gentlemen, In coats of red, Rode their horses Up to bed. Three jolly gentlemen Snored till morn, Their horses champing The golden corn. Three jolly gentlemen At break of day, Came clitter-clatter
The Song of Finis
At the edge of All the Ages A Knight sate on his steed, His armor red and thin with rust His soul from sorrow freed; And he lifted up his visor From a face
Some One
Some one came knocking At my wee, small door; Someone came knocking; I’m sure-sure-sure; I listened, I opened, I looked to left and right, But nought there was a stirring In the still dark
The Remonstrance
I was at peace until you came And set a careless mind aflame; I lived in quiet; cold, content; All longing in safe banishment, Until your ghostly lips and eyes Made wisdom unwise. Naught