My purse is yours, Sweet Heart, for I
Can count no coins with you close by;
I scorn like sailors them, when they
Have drawn on shore their deep-sea pay;
Only my thoughts I value now,
Which, like the simple glowworms, throw
Their beams to greet thee bravely, Love—
Their glorious light in Heaven above.
Since I have felt thy waves of light,
Beating against my soul, the sight
Of gems from Afric's continent
Move me to no great wonderment.
Since I, Sweet Heart, have known thine hair,
The fur of ermine, sable, bear,
Or silver fox, for me can keep
No more to praise than common sheep.
Though ten Isaiahs' souls were mine,
They could not sing such charms as thine.
Two little hands that show with pride,
Two timid, little feet that hide;
Two eyes no dark Senoras show
Their burning like in Mexico;
Two coral gates wherein is shown
Your queen of charms, on a white throne;
Your queen of charms, the lovely smile
That on its white throne could beguile
The mastiff from his gates in hell;
Who by no whine or bark could tell
His masters what thing made him go—
And countless other charms I know.
October's hedge has far less hues
Than thou hast charms from which to choose.

Streak upon streak of turquoise in a sheet of heavy gray, 
A space of shining silver where the clouds are torn away,
Stars growing pale in heaven o'erhead, and, lower down,
A fringe of amber touches the roofs of the sleeping town. 
Shadowy wains and waggoners steal slow and softly by, 
There is no sudden swish of whips, there is no carter's cry. 
Upon the lips that cease from speech, the lids that fain would rest, 
A little wind comes whispering out of the lightless west.
Lamps in the road are quenched and die because the day's begun, 
Although there's half an hour to wait ere men salute the sun. 
Steps of a homeless woman sound hollow down the street, 
Laugh of a man rings noisily where man and woman meet, 
And change with languid eyes and lips a fire of idle words, 
A cry of foolish laughter. Then silence; and the birds.