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The night is light and chill,

Stars are awake in the sky,

There’s a cloud over the moon;

Round the house on the hill

The wind creeps with its cry

Between a wail and a croon.


I hear the voice of the wind,

The voice of the wind in the night,

Cry and sob and weep,

As the voice of one that hath sinned

Moaning aloud in its might

In the night when he cannot sleep.


Sleep? No sleep is about.

What remembering sin

Wakes and watches apart?…

The winds wails without,

And my heart is wailing within,

And the wind is the voice of my heart.


The day is ending,

The night descending;

The marsh is frozen,

The river dead.


Through clouds like ashes

The red sun flashes

On village windows

That glimmer red.


The snow recommences;

The buried fences

Mark no longer

The road o’er the plain;


While through the meadows,

Like fearful shadows,

Slowly passes

A funeral train.


The bell is pealing,

And every feeling

Within me responds

To the dismal knell;


Shadows are trailing,

My heart is bewailing

And tolling within

Like a funeral bell.

Is this time to be cloudy and sad,

When our mother Nature laughs around;

When even the deep blue heavens look glad,

And gladness breaths from the blossoming ground?


There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,

And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;

The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den,

And the wilding bee hums merrily by.


The clouds are at play at the azure space,

And their shadows at play on the bright green vale,

And here they stretch to the frolic chase,

And there roll on the easy gale.


There’s a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,

There’s a titter of winds in that beechen tree,

There’s a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,

And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.


And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles

On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray,

On the leaping waters and gay young isles;

At, look, and he’ll smile thy gloom away.

When I go up through the mowing field,

The headless aftermath,

Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,

Half closes the garden path.


And when I come to the garden ground,

The whir of sober birds

Up from the tangle of withered weeds

Is sadder than any words


A tree beside the wall stands bare,

But a leaf that lingered brown,

Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,

Comes softly rattling down.


I end not far from my going forth

By picking the faded blue

Of the last remaining aster flower

To carry again to you.

The more we live, more brief appear

Our life’s succeeding stages;

A day to childhood seems a year,

And years like passing ages.


The gladsome current of our youth,

Ere passion yet disorders,

Steals lingering like a river smooth

Along its grassy borders.


But as the careworn cheek grows wan,

And sorrow’s shafts fly thicker,

Ye stars, that measure life to man,

Why seem your courses quicker?


When joys have lost their bloom and breath,

And life itself is vapid,

Why, as we reach the Falls of Death

Feel we its tide more rapid?


It may be strange-ye who would change

Time’s course to slower speeding,

When one by one our friends have gone,

And left our bosoms bleeding?


Heaven gives our years of fading strength

Indemnifying fleetness;

And those of youth, a seeming length,

Proportion’d to their sweetness.

In midst of waves, there are silver beads

And scraped by time paints of the white enamel…

I so like the morns which autumn breeds,

For their caress, so short and gentle.


And I do like the foam on the shore,

When it again is whitening in mire,

And, greedy, I am hiding here a store

Of hazy days, while skies are full of fire.


But somewhere there, they’re roaming in flame,

The same ones as I am, without name and number,

And somebody’s young being – just the same –

Instead of me, is ceasing in sad amber.

When you’re up against a trouble,

Meet it squarely, face to face;

Lift your chin and set your shoulders,

Plant your feet and take a brace.

When it’s in vain to try to dodge it,

Do the best that you can do;

You may fail, but you may conquer,

SeeĀ  it through!

Black may be the clouds about you

And your future may seem grim,

But don’t let your nerve desert you;

Keep yourself in fighting trim.

If the worst is bound to happen,

Spite of all that you can do,

Running from it will not save you,

See it through!


Even hope may seem but futile,

When with trouble you’re beset.

But remember you are facing

Just what other men have met.

You may fail, but fall still fighting;

Don’t give up, whate’er you do;

Eyes front, head to the finish.

See it through!

Let me kiss that special kiss

The one that’s more than touch

That gentle pressing of the lips

Persuading blood to rush


The kiss that makes you tremble

And makes your legs go weak

A moist embrace of tenderness

That takes you to your peak


With a heady scent of passion

It makes your body sway

The kiss that penetrates your soul

And takes your breath away


It lingers for a lifetime

You never will forget

The bursting of your senses

When our emotions met.

Lay down on your pillow

And turn the lights down low

Let me take you to the garden

Where the passion flower grows


Close your eyes and enter dreams

As love’s emotion sets the scene

And flitters through the garden

Where the passion flower grows


Touch the tender petals

Of the flower as she grows

A tentative endeavour

As your feeling overflow


Let me draw you to the place

Where ecstasy can be embraced

The beauty of the garden

Where the passion flower grows


Feel your mind exploding

In the heavy scented air

Experience the shiver

As you’re captured unaware


A little touch of heaven

Where imagination flows

The valley in the garden

Where the passion flower grows.



Today I opened wide my eyes,

And stared with wonder and surprise,

To see beneath November skies

An apple blossom peer;

Upon a branch as bleak as night

It gleamed exultant on my sight,

A fairy beacon burning bright

Of hope and cheer.


‘Alas’! said I, poor foolish thing,

Have you mistaken this for Spring?

Behold, the thrush has taken wing,

And Winter’s near.’

Serene it seemed to lift its head:

‘The Winter’s wrath I do not dread,

Because I am,’ it proudly said,

‘A pioneer.


‘Some apple blossom must be first,

With beauty’s urgency to burst

Into a world for joy athirst,

And so I dare;

And I shall see what none shall see-

December skies gloom over me,

And mock them with my April glee,

And fearless fare.


‘And I shall hear what none shall hear-

The hardy robin piping clear,

The Storm King gallop dark and drear

Across the sky;

And I shall know what none shall know-

The silent kisses of the snow,

The Christmas candles’ silver glow,

Before I die.


Then from your frost-gemmed window pane

One morning you will look in vain,

My smile of delicate disdain

No more to see

But though I pass before my time,

And perish in the grale and grime,

Maybe you’ll have a little rhyme

To spare for me.