the red slayer think he slays
Ill fits the abstemious Muse a crown to weave
Illusions like the tints of pearl
Illusion works impenetrable
In an age of fops and toys
In countless upward-striving waves
In Farsistan the violet spreads
In many forms we try
In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
In my garden three ways meet
In the chamber, on the stairs
In the deep heart of man a poet dwells
In the suburb, in the town
In the turbulent beauty
In Walden wood the chickadee
It fell in the ancient periods
It is time to be old

Knows he who tills this lonely field

Let me go where'er I will
Let Webster's lofty face
Like vaulters in a circus round
Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown
Long I followed happy guides
Love asks nought his brother cannot give
Love on his errand bound to go
Love scatters oil
Low and mournful be the strain

Man was made of social earth
Many things the garden shows
May be true what I had heard
Mine and yours
Mine are the night and morning
Mortal mixed of middle clay

Nature centres into balls
Never did sculptor's dream unfold
Night-dreams trace on Memory's wall
No fate, save by the victim's fault, is low
Not in their houses stand the stars

October woods wherein
O fair and stately maid, whose eyes
O pity that I pause!
O tenderly the haughty day
O well for the fortunate soul
O what are heroes, prophets, men
Of all wit's uses the main one
Of Merlin wise I learned a song
Oh what is Heaven but the fellowship
On a mound an Arab lay
On bravely through the sunshine and the showers
On prince or bride no diamond stone
On two days it steads not to run from thy grave
Once I wished I might rehearse
One musician is sure
Our eyeless bark sails free
Over his head were the maple buds

Pale genius roves alone
Parks and ponds are good by day
Philosophers are lined with eyes within
Power that by obedience grows
Put in, drive home the sightless wedges

Quit the hut, frequent the palace

Right upward on the road of fame
Roomy Eternity
Roving, roving, as it seems
Ruby wine is drunk by knaves

Samson stark at Dagon's knee
See yonder leafless trees against the sky
Seek not the spirit, if it hide
Seems, though the soft sheen all enchants
Set not thy foot on graves
She is gamesome and good
She paints with white and red the moors
She walked in flowers around my field
Shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
Shun passion, fold the hands of thrift
Six thankful wee