The prancing dancing horses
Are passing by for us.
The sunlight on the steeple,
The toys we stop to see,
The smiling passing people
Are all for you and me.
‘I love you and I love you!’–
‘And oh, I love you, too!’–
‘All of the flower girl’s lilies
Were only grown for you!’
Fifth Avenue and April
And love and lack of care–
The world is mad with music
Too beautiful to bear.
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You took my empty dreams
With tenderness and nobleness,April and the sun.The old empty dreamsWhere my thoughts would throngAre far too full of happinessTo even hold a song.Oh, the empty dreams were dimAnd the empty dreams were wide,They were sweet and shadowy housesWhere my thoughts could hide.But you took my dreams awayAnd you made them all come true –My thoughts…
I must have passed the crest a while ago
Strange to have crossed the crest and not to know,But the brambles were always grabbing at the hem of my gown.All the morning I thought how proud I should beTo stand there straight as a queen,Wrapped in the wind and the sun with the world under me–But the air was dull, there was little I…
Now while my lips are living
And will my soul rememberTo speak when I am dead?Yet if my soul rememberedYou would not heed it, dear,For now you must not listen,And then you could not hear.
I saw a ship sail forth at evening time;
And all her rigging one vast golden lyre,For winds to play on to the ocean’s rhymeOf wave on wave forever singing low.She floated on a web of burnished gold,And in such light as praying men beholdCling round a vision, were her sails aglow.I saw her come again when dawn was grey,Her wonder faded and her…
It will not hurt me when I am old,
Will not sting me like silver snakes;The years will make me sad and cold,It is the happy heart that breaks.The heart asks more than life can give,When that is learned, then all is learned;The waves break fold on jewelled fold,But beauty itself is fugitive,It will not hurt me when I am old.
WE will never walk again
Watching our shadows lengthenUnder the gold street-lightWhen the snow was new and white.We will never walk againSlowly, we two,In spring when the park is sweetWith midnight and with dew,And the passers-by are few.I sit and think of it all,And the blue June twilight dies,—Down in the clanging squareA street-piano criesAnd stars come out in the…