It is autumn; not without,
But within me is the cold.
Youth and spring are all about;
It is I that have grown old.
Birds are darting through the air,
Singing, building without rest;
Life is stirring everywhere,
Save within my lonely breast.
There is silence: the dead leaves
Fall and rustle and are still;
Beats no flail upon the sheaves
Comes no murmur from the mill.
In the Harbor 1882
- Becalmed
- The Poet's Calendar
- Autumn Within
- The Four Lakes of Madison
- Victor and Vanquished
- Moonlight
- The Children's Crusade - A fragment
- Sundown
- Chimes
- Four by the Clock
- Auf Wiedersehen
- Elegiac Verse
- The City and the Sea
- Memories
- Hermes Trismegistus
- To the Avon
- President Garfield
- My Books
- Mad River
- Possibilities
- Decoration Day
- A Fragment
- Loss and Gain
- Inscription on the Shanklin Fountain
- The Bells of San Blas
- Fragments