New York Nocturnes, and Other Poems

Oh, flower of the honeysuckle, Tell me how long ere, the sweet night through, She will turn not to you but to me in the darkness, And dream and desire come true.

The red and yellow of the Autumn salt-grass, The gray flats, and the yellow-gray full tide, The lonely stacks, the grave expanse of marshes,-- O Land wherein my memories abide,...