And, the last day being come, Man stood alone …
Trumbull Stickney
Be still. The Hanging Gardens were a dream …
I hear a river thro’ the valley wander …
I used to think …
There lies a somnolent lake …
Leave him now quiet by the way …
Live blindly and upon the hour. The Lord, …
It’s autumn in the country I remember. …
By such an all-embalming summer day …
Chide me not, darling, that I sing …
Sir, say no more. …
The passions that we fought with and subdued …
Tho’ lack of laurels and of wreaths not one …
You say, Columbus with his argosies …