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Because

Because you come to me with naught save
love, And hold my hand and lift mine eyes above, A
wider world of hope and joy I see, Be-
cause you come to me.
Because you speak to me in accents
sweet, I find the roses waking round my feet, And
I am led through tears and joy to thee, Be-
cause you speak to me.
Because God made thee
mine, I'll cherish thee Through
light and darkness, through all time to be, And
pray His love may make our love divine, Be-
cause God made thee mine.

Love of Nature

I sigh not for rich Peru's buried ore,
Nor any part she has abundantly
Disgorged; nor power, nor state, nor pageantry;
Nor prize the wealth that heaps up Commerce' shore,
Nor that which rides her waves; nor the large store
Which Neptune has obtained too frequently
From the sunk travellers of the perilous sea;
Nor aught of that which makes rich misers poor.
Give all these life-bought nothings unto them.
Of whom they are ador'd; let them have gold
And silver in huge masses, and the gem
That would out-price the richest diadem—

The Little Good Fellows

Make way, make way, give leave to rove
Under your orchard as above;
A yearly welcome if ye love!
And all who loved us alway[s] throve.

Love for love. For ever we
When some unfriended man we see
Lifeless under forest-eaves,
Cover him with buds and leaves;
And charge the chipmunk, mouse, and mole—
Molest not this poor human soul!

Then let us never on green floor
Where your paths wind round about,
Keep to the middle in misdoubt,
Shy and aloof, unsure of ye;
But come like grass to stones on moor,
Wherever mortals be.

O Say, Thou Best and Brightest

O say, thou best and brightest,
My first love and my last,
When he, whom now thou slightest,
From life's dark scene hath past,
Will kinder thoughts then move thee?
Will pity wake one thrill
For him who lived to love thee,
And dying loved thee still?

If when, that hour recalling
From which he dates his woes,
Thou feel'st a tear-drop falling,
Ah, blush not while it flows:
But, all the past forgiving,
Bend gently o'er his shrine,
And say, “This heart, when living,
“With all its faults, was mine.”

Pretty Words

Poets make pets of pretty, docile words:
I love smooth words, like gold-enameled fish
Which circle slowly with a silken swish,
And tender ones, like downy-feathered birds:
Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed deer in herds,
Come to my hand, and playful if I wish,
Or purring softly at a silver dish,
Blue Persian kittens, fed on cream and curds.
I love bright words, words up and singing early;
Words that are luminous in the dark, and sing;
Warm lazy words, white cattle under trees;
I love words opalescent, cool, and pearly,

Day and Night

Surely and swiftly cometh the dawn;
We cannot lie
Mothered by darkness and loved by the night,
For long, for long;
For strong, strong,
Uprises from shadowy caverns of slumber the morn.
Take the smile laid by
And wear it in daylight's garish sight;
Go on with the song,
And sing it till fades the evening light;
The night is the time to rest and sigh.

The House

“Mother, it's such a lonely house,”
The child cried; and the wind sighed.
“A narrow but a lovely house,”
The mother replied.
“Child, it is such a narrow house,”
The ghost cried; and the wind sighed.
“A narrow and a lonely house,”
The withering grass replied.

Seven Sad Sonnets, 3

While he to whom her vexing thoughts still clung
Went wearily philandering on his way:
He tried them slightly worn, he tried them young,
He tried them sorrowful, he tried them gay.
He said, and thought, he had not loved before;
He shrined a picture on his memory-shelf;
And as each loved one left his closing door
He took grave counsel with his puzzled self:
“There is no love. We for a moment stand
And hold at bay inevitable pain,
Aghast and passionate, hand in eager hand,
Before we face our loneliness again.”
Perhaps he made a rhyme; but quite forgot
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