One Day I Wrote Her Name
One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide and made my pains his prey. "Vain man," said she, "that dost in vain essay A mortal thing so to immortalize; For I myself shall like to this decay, And eke my name be wiped out likewise." "Not so," quoth I; "let baser things devise To lie in dust, but you shall live by fame; My verse your virtues rare shall eternize, And in the heavens write you glorious name: Where, whenas Death shall all the world subdue, Our love shall live, and later life renew."

The Hour Glass
Consider this small dust, here in the glass, By atoms moved: Could you believe that this the body was Of one that loved; And in his mistress' flame playing like a fly, Was turned to cinders by her eye: Yes; and in death, as life unblessed, To have it expressed, Even ashes of lovers find no rest.

Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.

Love Not Me
Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part: No, nor for a constant heart! For these may fail or turn to ill: Should thou and I sever. Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye, And love me still, but know not why! So hast thou the same reason still To dote upon me ever.

Farewell to Love
Since there's not help, come let us kiss and part; Nay, I am done, you get no more of me; And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free; Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we, one jot of former love retain. Now, at the last gasp of love's latest breath, When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies, When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And innocence is closing up his eyes, Now, if thou woulds't, when all have given him over, From death to life Thou might'st him yet recover.

I had Been Hungry
I had been hungry all the years; My noon had come, to dine; I, trembling, drew the table near, And touched the curious wine. ‘Twas this on table I had seen, When turning, hungry, lone, I looked in windows, for the wealth I could not hope to own. I did not know the ample bread, ‘Twas so unlike the crumb The birds and I had often shared In Nature’s dining-room. The plenty hurt me, ‘twas so new, - Myself felt ill and odd, As berry of a mountain bush Transplanted near the sod. Nor was I hungry; so I found That hunger was a way Of persons outside windows, The entering takes away.

Gone
Everybody loved Chick Lorimer in our town, Far off Everybody loved her. So we all love a wild girl keeping a hold On a dream she wants. Nobody knows now where Chick Lorimer went. Nobody knows why she packed her trunk. A few old things... and is gone. One with her little chin Thrust ahead of her And her soft hair blowing careless From under a wide hat, Dancer, singer, a laughing passionate lover. Were there ten men or a hundred hunting Chick? Were there five men or fifty with aching hearts? Everybody loved Chick Lorimer. Nobody knows where she's gone.

If I May Have It
If I may have it when it’s dead I will contented be; If just as soon as breath is out It shall belong to me, Until they lock it in the grave, ‘Tis bliss I cannot weigh, For though they lock thee in the grave, Myself can hold the key. Think of it, lover! I and thee Permitted face to face to be; After a life, a death we’ll say, - For death was that, but this is thee.

Happiness
I asked professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me, what is happiness. And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men. They all shook their heads and gave me a smile, as though I was trying to fool with them. And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Des Plaines River And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.

It's all I have to bring to-day
It's all I have to bring to-day, This, and my heart beside, This, and my heart, and all the fields, And all the meadows wide. Be sure you count, should I forget, -- Someone the sum could tell, -- This, and my heart, and all the bees Which in the clover dwell.

Lodged
The rain to the wind said, "You push and I'll pelt." They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged -- though not dead. I know how the flowers felt.

The Heart Asks
The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain; And then those little anodynes That deaden suffering, And then to go to sleep And then, if it should be, The will of its Inquisitor The liberty to die!

Shall I Compare Thee, (Sonnet XVIII)
Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day? Thou are more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And Summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd: But thy eternal Summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st: So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Under the Harvest Moon
Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over garden nights, Death, the gray mocker, Comes and whispers to you As a beautiful friend Who remembers. Under the summer roses When the flagrant crimson Lurks in the dusk Of the wild red leaves, Love, with little hands, Comes and touches you With a thousand memories, And asks you Beautiful, unanswerable questions.