Minnaloushe creeps through the grass Alone, important and wise, And lifts to the changing moon His changing eyes.

We have lit upon the gentle, sensitive mind And lost the old nonchalance of the hand; Whether we have chosen chisel, pen or brush, We are but critics, or but h…

Opinion is not worth a rush.

Hands, do what you're bid: Bring the balloon of the mind That bellies and drags in the wind Into its narrow shed.

There paused to shut the door A fellow called the Wind, With mystery before, And reticence behind.

Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.

Whenever the moon and stars are set, Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet, A man goes riding by. Late in the night when the fires are …