The weasel thieves in silver suit,
The rabbit runs in gray;
And Pan takes up his frosty flute
To pipe the cold away.
...
Not in the time of pleasure
Hope doth set her bow;
But in the sky of sorrow,
Over the vale of woe.
...
NATURE reads not our labels, “great” and “small”;
Accepts she one and all
...
PUT out thy torch, O watcher by the dead,
Unto the darkness give its own;
Silence and darkness - they alone
...
'WHITHER, pilgrims, whither bound,
Passing slowly with no sound?'
One by one they journey by,
Gliding, gliding silently;
...
THE SKILFUL listener, he, methinks, may hear
The grass blades clash in sunny field together,
The roses kissing, and the lily, whether
...
DOST deem him weak that owns his strength is tried?
Nay, we may safely lean on him that grieves:
The pine has immemorially sighed,
...
WHITHER leads this pathway, little one?—
It runs just on and on, is never done.
...
Who drives the horses of the sun
Shall lord it but a day;
Better the lowly deed were done,
And kept the humble way.
...
Wherever a green blade looks up,
A leaf lisps mystery,
Whereso a blossom holds its cup
A mist rings land or sea,
...