I
The first rose on my rose-tree
II
Let the little birds sing;
III
All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!
The Shroud
Death, I say, my heart is bowed
The Dream
Love, if I weep it will not matter,
Indifference
I said,--for Love was laggard, O, Love was slow to come,--
Witch-Wife
She is neither pink nor pale,
Blight
Hard seeds of hate I planted
When the Year Grows Old
I cannot but remember