It seemeth such a little way to me

        Across to that strange country—the Beyond;

And yet, not strange, for it has grown to be

        The home of those of whom I am so fond,

They make it seem familiar and most dear,
...

Poet:

The year has but one June, dear friend;

       The year has but one June;

And when that perfect month doth end,

The robin's song, though loud, though long,

       Seems never quite in tune.


The rose, though...

Poet:

Changed? Yes, I will confess it—I have changed.

        I do not love in the old fond way.

I am your friend still—time has not estranged

        One kindly feeling of that vanished day.


But the bright glamour which made...

Poet:

When my blood flows calm as a purling river,

      When my heart is asleep and my brain has sway,

It is then that I vow we must part forever,

      That I will forget you, and put you away

Out of my life, as a dream is banished...

Poet:

In the midnight of darkness and terror,

       When I would grope nearer to God,

With my back to a record of error

       And the highway of sin I have trod,

There come to me shapes I would banish—

       The shapes...

Poet:

Said Death to Passion

"Give of thine an Acre unto me."

Said Passion, through contracting Breaths

"A Thousand Times Thee Nay."


Bore Death from Passion

All His East

He — sovereign as the Sun
...

Poet:

The band was playing a waltz-quadrille,

         I felt as light as a wind-blown feather,

As we floated away, at the caller's will,

         Through the intricate, mazy dance together.

Like mimic armies our lines were meeting,...

Poet: