some consid'ble of a spell sence I hain't writ no letters,

Leaves fit to have been poor Juliet's cradle-rhyme,
Let others wonder what fair face,
Light of triumph in her eyes,
Look on who will in apathy, and stifle they who can,
Looms there the New Land,

Maiden, when such a soul as thine is born,
Mary, since first I knew thee, to this hour,
Men say the sullen instrument,
Men! whose boast it is that ye,
My coachman, in the moonlight there,
My day began not till the twilight fell,
My heart, I cannot still it,
My Love, I have no fear that thou shouldst die,
My name is Water: I have sped,
My soul was like the sea,
My worthy friend, A. Gordon Knott,

Never, surely, was holier man,
New England's poet, rich in love as years,
Nine years have slipt like hour-glass sand,
No? Hez he? He haint, though? Wut? Voted agin him?
Nor deemed he lived unto himself alone,
Not always unimpeded can I pray,
Not as all other women are,
Now Bioern, the son of Heriulf, had ill days,

O days endeared to every Muse,
'O Dryad feet,'
O dwellers in the valley-land,
O Land of Promise! from what Pisgah's height,
O moonlight deep and tender,
O wandering dim on the extremest edge,
Of all the myriad moods of mind,
Oft round my hall of portraiture I gaze,
Oh, tell me less or tell me more,
Old events have modern meanings; only that survives,
Old Friend, farewell! Your kindly door again,
On this wild waste, where never blossom came,
Once git a smell o' musk into a draw,
Once hardly in a cycle blossometh,
Once on a time there was a pool,
One after one the stars have risen and set,
One feast, of holy days the crest,
One kiss from all others prevents me,
Opening one day a book of mine,
Our love is not a fading, earthly flower,
Our ship lay tumbling in an angry sea,
Over his keys the musing organist,

Phoebus, sitting one day in a laurel-tree's shade,
Praisest Law, friend? We, too, love it much as they that love it best,
Propped on the marsh, a dwelling now, I see,
Punctorum garretos colens et cellara Quinque,

Rabbi Jehosha used to say,
Reader! Walk up at once (it will soon be too late),
Rippling through thy branches goes the sunshine,

Said Christ our Lord, I will go and see,
Seat of all woes? Though Nature's firm decree,
She gave me all that woman can,
Shell, whose lips, than mine more cold,
Ship, blest to bear such freight across the blue,
Shy soul and stalwart, man of patient will,
Silencioso por la puerta,
Sisters two, all pra