Some Poems Are Like The Centaurs--a Mingling

The Nearer The Dawn The Darker The Night.

I Have A Passion For Ballad. . . . They Are The Gypsy Children Of Song, Born Under Green Hedgerows In The Leafy Lanes And Bypaths Of Literature,--in The Genial Summertime.

Wondrous Strong Are The Spells Of Fiction.

Softly The Evening Came /with The Sunset/.

Such Was The Wreck Of The Hesperus, In The Midnight And The Snow! Christ Save Us All From A Death Like This, On The Reef Of Norman's Woe!