A wondrous year! perchance in many a starYou have sojourned, or basked within the lightOf mightier suns; it may be you have trodThe glittering pathways of the Pleiades,And through the Milky Way’s white mysteriesHave walked at will, fire-shod.You may have gazed in the immortal eyesOf prophets and of martyrs; talked with seersLearned in all the…
Little hands that were tender and white as a rose,All dented with dimples from finger to wrist,Such as mothers have kissedThat one day they must feel the fierce blowsOf a hatred insane,Must redden with holiest stain,And grasp as their guerdon the boon of the bitterest pain,Oh, I think that her sweet, brooding faceMust have blanched…
Still to our battered canvas the scents of the spice gales cling,And our hearts are swelling within us as we cross the harbor bar.Beyond are the dusky hills where the twilight hangs in the pine trees,Below are the lights of home where are watching the tender eyesWe have dreamed of on fretted seas in the…
From outworn hopes, and from the lingering stainOf passion’s dregs, by penitential pain.Take thou it, then, and fill it up for meWith thine unstinted love, and it shall beAn earthy chalice that is made divineBy its red draught of sacramental wine.
Bedropt with virgin buds; an orient skyFleeced with a dappled cloud but half withdrawn;A mad wind blowing by,O’er slopes of rippling grass and glens apart;A brackened path to a wild-woodland placeA limpid pool with a fair, laughing faceMirrored within its heart.IIAn ancient garden brimmed with summer sunUpon a still and slumberous afternoon;Old walks and pleasances…
On that low-lying, windy waste by the sea,Where the silvery grasses rustle and lisp;There, where the crispFoam-flakes shall fly over me,And murmurs creepFrom the ancient heart of the deep,Lulling me ever, I shall most sweetly sleep.While the eerie sea-folk croonOn the long dim shore by the light of a waning moon.I shall not hearClamor of…
Harbor an eerie wind that crooneth lowOver the glimmering wastes of virgin snow.Through the pale arch of orient the mornComes in a milk-white splendor newly-born,A sword of crimson cuts in twain the grayBanners of shadow hosts, and lo, the day!
