Cloistered
To-night the little girl-nun died. Her hands were laid Across her breast; the last sun tried To kiss her quiet braid; And where the little river cried, Her grave was made. The...
Read MoreTo-night the little girl-nun died. Her hands were laid Across her breast; the last sun tried To kiss her quiet braid; And where the little river cried, Her grave was made. The...
Read MoreThree days I heard them grieve when I lay dead, (It was so strange to me that they should weep!) Tall candles burned about me in the dark, And...
Read MoreAs down the street she wambled slow, She had not got a place to go: She had not got a place to fall And rest herself—no place at all. She...
Read MoreYou say I touch the barberries As a lover his mistress? What a curious fancy! One must be delicate, you know— They have bitter thorns. You say my hand is hurt? Oh...
You that have known passion, think not that you have fathomed love. It may be that you have never seen love’s face. For love thrusts aside storm-clouds of...
Read MoreAh stern cold man, How can you lie so relentless hard While I wash you with weeping water! Ah face, carved hard and cold, You have been like this, on...
Read MoreSerene the silver fishes glide, Stern-lipped, and pale, and wonder-eyed! As through the aged deeps of ocean, They glide with wan and wavy motion! They have no pathway where they...