And the croaking of frogs-
Cracked bell-notes in the twilight.
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Oh! To be a flower
Bending, then upspringingAs the breezes run;Holding upA scent-brimmed cup,Full of summer’s fragrance to the summer sun.Oh! To be a butterflyStill, upon a flower,Winking with its painted wings,Happy in the hour.Blossoms holdMines of goldDeep within the farthest heart of each chaliced flower.Oh! To be a cloudBlowing through the blue,Shadowing the mountains,Rushing loudly throughValleys deepWhere torrents keepAlways…
He shouts in the sails of the ships at sea,
He makes the forest trees rustle and sing,He twirls my kite till it breaks its string.Laughing, dancing, sunny wind,Whistling, howling, rainy wind,North, South, East and West,Each is the wind I like the best.He calls up the fog and hides the hills,He whirls the wings of the great windmills,The weathercocks love him and turn to discoverHis…
High up above the open, welcoming door
Once, long ago, it was a waving treeAnd knew the sun and shadow through the leavesOf forest trees, in a thick eastern wood.The winter snows had bent its branches down,The spring had swelled its buds with coming flowers,Summer had run like fire through its veins,While autumn pelted it with chestnut burrs,And strewed the leafy ground…
‘Hullo, Alice!’
‘Say, Alice, gi’ me a coupleO’ them two for five cigars,Will yer?’‘Where’s your nickel?’‘My! Ain’t you close!Can’t trust a feller, can yer.’‘Trust you! WhyWhat you owe this storeWould set you up in business.I can’t think why Father ‘lows it.’‘Yer Father’s a sight more neighbourlyThan you be. That’s a fact.Besides, he knows I got a vote.’‘A…
On winter nights beside the nursery fire
Builded its pictures. There before our eyesWe saw the vaulted hall of traceried stoneUprear itself, the distant ceiling hungWith pendent stalactites like frozen vines;And all along the walls at intervals,Curled upwards into pillars, roses climbed,And ramped and were confined, and clustered leavesDivided where there peered a laughing face.The foliage seemed to rustle in the wind,A…
Dearest, forgive that with my clumsy touch
I hardly could supposeIt were a thing so fragile that my clutchCould kill it, thus.It stood so proudly up upon its stem,I knew no thought of fear,And coming very nearFell, overbalanced, to your garment’s hem,Tearing it down.Now, stooping, I upgather, one by one,The crimson petals, allOutspread about my fall.They hold their fragrance still, a blood-red…