Mad for Poetry

 I meant to have but modest needs,    Such as content, and heaven;    Within my income these could lie,    And life and I keep even.     But since the last…

    A face devoid of love or grace,    A hateful, hard, successful face,    A face with which a stone    Would feel as thoroughly at ease    As were they old acquaintances,…

 A poor torn heart, a tattered heart,    That sat it down to rest,    Nor noticed that the ebbing day    Flowed silver to the west,    Nor noticed night did soft…

 A murmur in the trees to note,    Not loud enough for wind;    A star not far enough to seek,    Nor near enough to find;     A long, long yellow…

 A modest lot, a fame petite,    A brief campaign of sting and sweet    Is plenty! Is enough!    A sailor’s business is the shore,    A soldier’s — balls. Who asketh…

    Fate slew him, but he did not drop;    She felled — he did not fall —    Impaled him on her fiercest stakes —    He neutralized them all.     She…

  A light exists in spring    Not present on the year    At any other period.    When March is scarcely here     A color stands abroad    On solitary hills    That science cannot overtake,    But…

  A dew sufficed itself    And satisfied a leaf,    And felt, ‘how vast a destiny!    How trivial is life!’     The sun went out to work,    The day went out to…

   A death-blow is a life-blow to some    Who, till they died, did not alive become;    Who, had they lived, had died, but when    They died, vitality begun.