MOUNTAINS
AT SUNSET
POST NUBES LUX
THE HOME-COMING FROM ROME
MY GARDEN
THE MOUNTAINS OF MERAN
OSWALD, THE MINNESINGER
AFTER THE VINTAGE
THE PASSING MOON
AUTUMN IN MERAN
THE STATUE OF THE EMPRESS ELIZABETH
THE OUTCASTS
HEIMWEIL
MY LIBRARY
TOUT PASSE

BESIDE LAKE COMO

THE FAUN
ISOLA COMACINA
THE OLD CARRIER
EVENING ON LAKE COMO
DELIO PATRI
ACQUA FREDDA
THE POSTERN GATE
UNDINE
JANUARY IN THE TREMEZZINA
THE WANDERER
SECLUSION
ONE MORE
UNDER THE PLANE TREE
"CONJUGI CARISSIMAE"
THE PAGAN PAST
RETIREMENT
IN NOVEMBER
THE CALL OF THE BLOOD
THE CASCADE
BIRD SLAUGHTER
THE IRON CROWN
CONTRASTS
IN MY PERGOLA
EVANESCENCE
LAKE COMO IN AUTUMN
TO THE PORTRAIT OF NAPOLEON
DAY AND NIGHT
PASSING AND PERMANENT
TRIPOLI
INFLUENCE
LEO
FAREWELL TO THE FAUN
WAKEFULNESS
VILLA PLINIANA
POINT BALBIANELLO
AT LENNO

PERSONALLY ADDRESSED

LINES WRITTEN FOR A GOLDEN WEDDING
TO THE WALKING-STICK OF MY DEAD FRIEND
TO C.
TO MR. AND MRS. A.H.S.
To M.C. OF ATHENS
TO J.B.
TO M.P.
TO MISS MARY C. LOW
IN MEMORIAM. G.M.M.
TO HON. CHARLES M. DICKINSON
TO J.C.Y.
TO HON. JESSE HOLDOM

TRANSLATIONS

THE KISS TO THE FLAG
EMILY'S GRAVE
SERENADE TO NINON
THE RED TYROLEAN EAGLE
ANDREAS HOFER
STREAM AND SEA

* * * * *

RACHEL

MY "PROMENADE SOLITAIRE"

Up and down in my garden fair,
Under the trellis where grapes will bloom,
With the breath of violets in the air,
As pallid Winter for Spring makes room,
I walk and ponder, free from care,
In my beautiful Promenade Solitaire.

Back and forth in the checkered shade
Traced by the lattice that holds the vine,
With the glory of snow-capped crests displayed
On the sapphire sky in a billowy line,
I stroll, and ask what can compare
With the charm of my Promenade Solitaire.

To and fro 'neath the nascent green
Which clambers over its slender frame,
With white peaks lighting up the scene,
As snowfields glow with the sunset flame,
I saunter, halting here and there
For the view from my Promenade Solitaire.

In and out through the silence sweet,
Plash of fountain and song of bird
Are the only sounds in my lov'd retreat
By which the air is ever stirred;
It is like a long-drawn aisle of prayer,
So hushed is my Promenade Solitaire.

Onward rushes the world without,
But the breeze whi