WE go no more to the forest,
The rimus are all cut down.
They are built into roof and sill and wall,
Into floors that thrill to the last foot-fall
...
I
THERE’S not a person in the street,
This merry-making summer day!
...
(Autumn Song)
Chill breezes moaning are
Where leaves hang yellow:
...
What look hath she,
What majestie,
That must so high approve her?
What graces move
...
THE MASTER He was hungry:
‘Shall we not dine,’ said He,
‘On the good fruit amongst the leaves
Of this delightful tree?’
...
(Autumn Song)
Chill breezes moaning are
Where leaves hang yellow:
...
What look hath she,
What majestie,
That must so high approve her?
What graces move
...
"Aqui esta encerrada el alma licenciado Pedro Garcias."
Dear books! and each the living soul,
Our hearts aver, of men unseen,
...
Saturday night in the crowded town;
Pleasure and pain going up and down,
Murmuring low on the ear there beat
Echoes unceasing of voice and feet.
...