Hearts that are great beat never loud,     They muffle their music when they come;    They hurry away from the thronging crowd     With bended brows and lips…

    There never was a valley without a faded flower,     There never was a heaven without some little cloud;    The face of day may flash with light…

    The summer rose the sun has flushed     With crimson glory may be sweet;    ‘Tis sweeter when its leaves are crushed     Beneath the wind’s and tempest’s feet….

    Pure faced page! waiting so long     To welcome my muse and me;    Fold to thy breast, like a mother, the song     That floats from my spirit…

    “O Songs!” I said:    “Stop sounding in my soul    Just for a little while and let me sleep,    Resting my head on the breast    Of Silence;” but the rhythmic…

    Those hearts of ours — how strange! how strange!    How they yearn to ramble and love to range    Down through the vales of the years long gone,    Up…

    Did I dream of a song? or sing in a dream?    Why ask when the night only knoweth?    The night — and the angel of sleep!    But ever…

    His face was sad; some shadow must have hung    Above his soul; its folds, now falling dark,    Now almost bright; but dark or not so dark,    Like cloud…

    Adown the valley dripped a stream,     White lilies drooped on either side;    Our hearts, in spite of us, will dream     In such a place at eventide….

    One bright memory shines like a star     In the sky of my spirit forever;    And over my pathway it flashes afar     A radiance that perishes never….