Some shall reap that never sow
And some shall toil and not attain.

There are haunters of the silence, ghosts that hold the heart and brain.

What magic shall solve us the secretOf beauty that’s born for an hour?

When Death hath poured oblivion through my veins,
And brought me home, as all are brought, to lie
In that vast house, common to serfs and Thanes,
I shall not die, I shall not utterly die,
For beauty born of beauty– that remains.

Again let us dream where the land lies sunny And live, like the bees, on our hearts‘ old honey, Away from the world that slaves for money– Come, journey the way with me.

I am a part of all you see In Nature: part of all you feel: I am the impact of the bee Upon the blossom; in the tree I am the sap that shall reveal The leaf, the bloom that flows and flutes Up from the darkness through its roots.

When the hornet hangs in the hollyhock,
And the brown bee drones in the rose,
And the west is a red-streaked four-o’clock,
And summer is near its close,
It’s, Oh!, For the gate, and the locust lane;
And dusk, and dew, and home again!

Though sands be black and bitter black the sea, Night lie before me and behind me night, And God within far Heaven refuse to light The consolation of the dawn for me,– Between the shadowy burns of Heaven and Hell, It is enough love leaves my soul to dwell With memory.