Martyred many times must be Who would keep his country free.

Lord, I do fear Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year My soul is all but out of me-let fall No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

Catch from the board of beauty/ Such careless crumbs as fall.

When you are corn and roses and at rest I shall endure, a dense and sanguine ghost To haunt the scene where I was happiest To bend above the thing I loved the most

A ghost in marble of a girl you knew Who would have loved you in a day or two.

Her lawn looks like a meadow, And if she mows the place She leaves the clover standing And the Queen Anne's Lace.

If I could have two things in one: the peace of the grave, and the light of the sun.