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!

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

Old homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter.

This is the truth as I see it, my dear, Out in the wind and the rain: They who have nothing have little to fear, Nothing to lose or to gain.

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.

At daybreak Morn shall come to meIn raiment of the white winds spun.

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

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.

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.