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A Funeral Phantasy
King Francis
Nadowessian Death-Lament
Round the sun
The Ring of Polycrates
The Secret
The Inn of the Five Chimneys
The Tunnel
The Battle of Gettysburg
Hymn of Pan
Bird thou
May morning

walk o'er the western wave,
Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave,--
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Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
Which make thee terrible and dear,--
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Wrap thy form in a mantle grey,
Star-inwrought! Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out.
Then wander o'er city and sea and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand--
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When I arose and saw the dawn
I sigh'd for thee; When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turn'd to her rest, Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sigh'd for thee.
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Thy brother Death came, and cried,
'Wouldst thou me?'
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmur'd like a noontide bee, 'Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?'--and I replied,
'No, not thee!' Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon--
Sleep will come when thou art fled.
I ask of thee, beloved Night--
Come soon, soon!