Are like the voices of returning birds
Filling the soul with summer, or a bell
That calls the weary and the sick to prayer.
Even as thy thought, so let thy speech be fair.
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The long days came and went; the riotous bees
And men grew faint and thin with too much ease,And Winter gave no sign:But all the while beyond the northmost woodsHe sat and smiled and watched his spirits playIn elfish dance and eery roundelay,Tripping in many moodsWith snowy curve and fairy crystal shine.But now the time is come: with southward speedThe elfin spirits pass: a…
Grief was my master yesternight;
But now along the windy plainThe clouds have taken flight.The sowers in the furrows go;The lusty river brimmeth on;The curtains from the hills are gone;The leaves are out; and lo,The silvery distance of the day,The light horizons, and betweenThe glory of the perfect green,The tumult of the May.The bobolinks at noonday singMore softly than the…
What are these bustlers at the gate
These playthings in the hand of Fate,That pass, and point no way;These clinging bubbles whose mock firesFor ever dance and gleam,Vain foam that gathers and expiresUpon the world’s dark stream;These gropers betwixt right and wrong,That seek an unknown goal,Most ignorant, when they seem most strong;What are they, then, O Soul,That thou shouldst covet overmuchA tenderer…
Fair little scout, that when the iron year
Comest with such a sudden burst of joy,Lifting on winter’s doomed and broken rearThat song of silvery triumph blithe and clear;Not yet quite conscious of the happy glow,We hungered for some surer touch, and lo!One morning we awake, and thou art here.And thousands of frail-stemmed hepaticas,With their crisp leaves and pure and perfect hues,Light sleepers,…
Though fancy and the might of rhyme,
Have borne me many a musing time,Beloved, from thy side.Ah yet, I pray thee, deem not, Sweet,Those hours were given in vain;Within these covers to thy feetI bring them back again.
It fell on a day I was happy,
The flowers and the beasts in the meadowSeemed happy even as I;And I stretched my hands to the meadow,To the bird, the beast, the tree:‘Why are ye all so happy?’I cried, and they answered me.What sayest thou, Oh meadow,That stretchest so wide, so far,That none can say how manyThy misty marguerites are?And what say ye,…