Reserve

Keep back the one word more,
Nor give of your whole store;
For, it may be, in Art’s sole hour of need,
Lacking that word, you shall be poor indeed.

More poems by Lizette Woodworth Reese

A Holiday

Along the pastoral ways I go,
To get the healing of the trees,
The ghostly news the hedges know; …
Anne

Her eyes be like the violets,
Ablow in Sudbury lane;
When she doth smile, her face is sweet …
Daffodils

Fathered by March, the daffodils are here.
First, all the air grew keen with yesterday,
And once a thrush from out some hollow gray …
Immortality

Battles nor songs can from oblivion save,
But Fame upon a white deed loves to build:
From out that cup of water Sidney gave, …