Poems

Niagara Seen on a night in November How frail Above the bulk Of crashing water hangs, Autumn, evanescent, wan, The moon.

Night I have minded me Of the noon-day brightness, And the cricket’s drowsy Singing in the sunshine. . I have minded me Of the slim marsh-grasses […]

Night Winds. THE old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that I Should weep?

Nor moon, Nor stars . . the dark . . and in The dark the grey Ghost glimmer of the olive trees The black straight rows […]

November Night Listen . . . With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees And fall.

Now Barabbas Was a Robber No guile? Nay, but so strangely He moves among us. . Not this Man but Barabbas! Release to us Barabbas!

Oh Lady, Let the Sad Tears Fall Oh Lady, let the sad tears fall To speak thy pain, Gently as through the silver dusk The silver […]

Old Love More dim than wining moon Thy face, mort faint Than is the falling wind Thy voice, yet do Thine eyes most strangely glow, Thou […]

On Seeing Weather Beaten Trees Is it as plainly in our living shown, By slant and twist, which way the wind has blown?

Part II To Walter Savage Landor Ah, Walter, where you lived I rue These days come all too late for me; What matter if her eyes […]