This statue of Liberty, busy man, Here erect in the city square,I have watched while your scrubbings, this early morning, Strangely wistful, And half tristful, Have turned her from foul to fair;With your bucket of water, and mop, and brush,…
Does he want you down there In the Nether Glooms whereThe hours may be a dragging load upon him, As he hears the axle grind Round and round Of the great world, in the blind Still profoundOf the night-time? He…
How could I be aware,The opposite window eyeingAs I lay listless there,That through its blinds was dyingOne I had rated rareBefore I had set me sighingFor another more fair?Had the house-front been glass,My vision unobscuring,Could aught have come to passMore…
“I am here to time, you see;The glade is well-screened — eh? — against alarm; Fit place to vindicate by my arm The honour of my spotless wife, Who scorns your libel upon her life In boasting intimacy! “‘All hush-offerings…
IStretching eyes westOver the sea,Wind foul or fair,Always stood sheProspect-impressed;Solely out thereDid her gaze rest,Never elsewhereSeemed charm to be. IIAlways eyes eastPonders she now —As in devotion —Hills of blank browWhere no waves plough.Never the leastRoom for emotionDrawn from the…
How was this I did not seeSuch a look as here was shownEre its womanhood had blownPast its first felicity? —That I did not know you young, Faded Face, Know you young!Why did Time so ill besteadThat I heard no…
The wind blew words along the skies, And these it blew to meThrough the wide dusk: “Lift up your eyes, Behold this troubled tree,Complaining as it sways and plies; It is a limb of thee.”Yea, too, the creatures sheltering round—…
So zestfully canst thou sing?And all this indignity,With God’s consent, on thee!Blinded ere yet a-wingBy the red-hot needle thou,I stand and wonder howSo zestfully thou canst sing!Resenting not such wrong,Thy grievous pain forgot,Eternal dark thy lot,Groping thy whole life long;After…
When I walked roseless tracks and wide,Ere dawned your date for meeting me,O why did you not cry HallooAcross the stretch between, and say:”We move, while years as yet divide,On closing lines which — though it beYou know me not…
(Written to an old folk-tune)Lalage’s coming:Where is she now, O?Turning to bow, O,And smile, is she,Just at parting,Parting, parting,As she is startingTo come to me?Where is she now, O,Now, and now, O,Shadowing a bough, O,Of hedge or treeAs she is…
