Not for you was the pen bitten,
And the mind wrung, and the song written.
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The trees along this city street,
Would make a sound as thin and sweetAs trees in country lanes.And people standing in their shadeOut of a shower, undoubtedlyWould hear such music as is madeUpon a country tree.Oh, little leaves that are so dumbAgainst the shrieking city air,I watch you when the wind has come,—I know what sound is there.
Doubt no more that Oberon—
Lived, and played a reed, and ranAfter nymphs in a dark forest,In the merry, credulous days,—Lived, and led a fairy bandOver the indulgent land!Ah, for in this dourest, sorestAge man’s eye has looked upon,Death to fauns and death to fays,Still the dog-wood dares to raise—Healthy tree, with trunk and root—Ivory bowls that bear no fruit,And…
Brother, that breathe the August air
And smell—if still your orchards bearTart apples on the bough—The early windfall under the tree,And see the red fruit shine,I cannot think your thoughts will beMuch different from mine.Should at that moment the full moonStep forth upon the hill,And memories hard to bear at noon,By moonlight harder still,Form in the shadow of the trees, —Things…
I’ll keep a little tavern
Wherein all grey-eyed peopleMay set them down and rest.There shall be plates a-plenty,And mugs to melt the chillOf all the grey-eyed peopleWho happen up the hill.There sound will sleep the traveller,And dream his journey’s end,But I will rouse at midnightThe falling fire to tend.Aye, ’tis a curious fancy—But all the good I knowWas taught me…
Down, you mongrel, Death!
I have stolen breathIn a stalk of fennel!You shall scratch and you shall whineMany a night, and you shall worryMany a bone, before you buryOne sweet bone of mine!When shall I be dead?When my flesh is withered,And above my headYellow pollen gatheredAll the empty afternoon?When sweet lovers pause and wonderWhom am I that lie thereunder,Hidden…
Love, if I weep it will not matter,
Foolish am I to think about it,But it is good to feel you there.Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,—White and awful the moonlight reachedOver the floor, and somewhere, somewhere,There was a shutter loose,—it screeched!Swung in the wind,—and no wind blowing!—I was afraid, and turned to you,Put out my hand to you for comfort,—And…