Aye, down the years, behold, he rides,
Because on the branch that is tapping my pane
Did you choose the journey, friend?
Distant as a dream's flight,
Eternal in the brooding of the old Norwegian pines
Ever as sinks the day on sea or land,
Face in the tomb, that lies so still,
For the sake of a weathered gray city set high on a hill
God meant me to be hungry,
Hark ye! Hush ye! Margot's dead!
Hark you such sound as quivers? Kings will hear,
How an image of paint and wood
I know a vale where I would go one day,
I saw her in a Broadway car,
I think that I shall never see
I thought I had forgotten you,
I thought my heart would break
I went to the place where my youth took birth
If I am slow forgetting,
In every line a supple beauty --
It's little that I'd care for the glories of Ireland,
Lest I learn, with clearer sight,
Lo -- to the battle-ground of Life,
Love you not the tall trees spreading wide their branches,
May is building her house. With apple blossoms
Midnight, and in the darkness not a sound;
O blest Imagination!
Oh, joy that burns in Denver tavern!
Old Hezekiah leaned hard on his hoe
One whom I loved and never can forget
Outside hove Shasta, snowy height on height
Over the dim edge of sleep I lean,
Over the wintry threshold
Proud men
Sicilian Muse! O thou who sittest dumb
Sorrow, quit me for a while!
The moon's ashine; by many a lane
The sickle is dulled of the reaping and the threshing-floor is bare;
The snug little room with its brazier fire aglow,
The twilight is starred,
The Wind bows down the poplar trees
They call you cold New England,
War shook the land where Levi dwelt,
Weave the dance. and raise again the sacred chorus;
Weighed down by grief, o'er borne by deep despair,
What of the night?
With rod and line I took my way