once mine? And am I still
Remembering?

A path that wanders wistfully
With no beginning there nor here,
Nor special grace that it should be
So sharply dear,

Unless,--what if when every day
Is yesterday, with naught to borrow,
I may slip down this wistful way
Into to-morrow?

Fear

I HEARD a sound of crying in the lane,
A passionless, low crying,
And I said, "It is the tears of the brown rain
On the leaves within the lane!"

I heard a sudden sighing at the door,
A soft, persuasive sighing,
And I said, "The summer breeze has sighed before,
Gustily, outside the door!"

Yet from the place I fled, nor came again,
With my heart beating, beating!
For I knew 'twas not the breeze nor the brown rain
At the door and in the lane!

Resurrection

I BURIED Joy; and early to the tomb
I came to weep--so sorrowful was I
Who had not dreamed that Joy, my Joy, could die.

I turned away, and by my side stood Joy
All glorified--ah, so ashamed was I
Who dared to dream that Joy, my Joy, could die!

The Lost Name

THE voice of my true love is low
And exquisitely kind,
Warm as a flower, cold as snow--
I think it is the Wind.

My true love's face is white as mist
That moons have lingered on,
Yet rosy as a cloud, sun-kissed--
I think it is the Dawn.

The breath of my true love is sweet
As gardens at day's close
When dew and dark together meet--
I think it is a Rose.

My true love's heart is wild and shy
And folded from my sight,
A world, a star, a whispering sigh--
I think it is the Night.

My true love's name is lost to me,
The prey of dusty years,
But in the falling Rain I see
And know her by her tears!

The Happy Traveller

WHO is the monarch of the Road?
I, the happy rover!
Lord of the way which lies before
Up to the hill and over--
Owner of all beneath the blue,
On till the end, and after, too!

I am the monarch of the Road!
Mine are the keys of morning,
I know where evening keeps her store
Of stars for night's adorning,
I know the wind's wild will, and why
The lone thrush hurries down the sky!

I am the monarch of the Road!
My court I hold with singing,
Each bird a gay ambassador,
Each flower a censer, swinging;
And every little roadside thing
A wonder to confound a king.

I am the monarch of the Road!
I ask no leave for living;
I take no less, I seek no more
Than nature's fullest giving--
And eve