• The Ruddy poppies bend and bow,
      Diane! do you remember?
    The sun you knew shines proudly now,
    The lake still lists the breeze’s vow,
    Your towers are fairer for their stains,
    Each stone you smiled upon remains.
      Sing low—where is Diane?
        Diane! do you remember?

    I come to find you through the years,
      Diane! do you...

  • I Will not look for him, I will not hear
    My heart’s loud beating, as I strain to see
    Across the rain forlorn and hopelessly,
    Nor, starting, think ’t is he that draws so near.
    I will forget how tenderly and dear
    He might in coming hold his arms to me,
    For I will prove what woman’s pride can be
    When faint love lingers in the darkness drear...

  • Kiss me but once, and in that space supreme
    My whole dark life shall quiver to an end,
    Sweet Death shall see my heart and comprehend
    That life is crowned, and in an endless gleam
    Will fix the color of the dying stream,
    That Life and Death may meet as friend with friend
    An endless immortality to blend;
    Kiss me but once, and so shall end my...

  • Was there another Spring than this?
      I half remember, through the haze
      Of glimmering nights and golden days,
        A broken-pinioned birdling’s note,
        An angry sky, a sea-wrecked boat,
      A wandering through rain-beaten ways!
    Lean closer, love—I have thy kiss!
    Was there another Spring than this?

  • Does the pearl know, that in its shade and sheen,
    The dreamy rose and tender wavering green,
      Are hid the hearts of all the ranging seas,
      That Beauty weeps for gifts as fair as these?
    Does it desire aught else when its rare blush
    Reflects Aurora in the morning’s hush,
      Encircling all perfection can bestow,
            Does the pearl know...

  • Sigh not for love,—the ways of love are dark!
      Sweet Child, hold up the hollow of your hand
        And catch the sparks that flutter from the star!
        See how the late sky spreads in flushing bars!
      They are dead roses from your own dear land,
    Tossed high by kindly breezes; lean, and hark,
    And you shall know how Morning glads her lark!
      ...