| | PAGE |
| Aye, down the years, behold, he rides. |
| Percy Adams Hutchison | [54] |
| Because on the branch that is tapping my pane. |
| Arthur Guiterman | [7] |
| Did you choose the journey, friend? |
| Ruth Sterry | [62] |
| Distant as a dream’s flight. |
| John G. Neihardt | [17] |
| Eternal in the brooding of the old Norwegian spruces. |
| Ruth Guthrie Harding | [4] |
| Ever as sinks the day on sea or land. |
| George Sterling | [52] |
| Face in the tomb, that lies so still. |
| Richard Le Gallienne | [22] |
| For the sake of a weathered gray city set high on a hill. |
| Amelia J. Burr | [25] |
| God meant me to be hungry. |
| Mildred Howells | [8] |
| Hark ye! Hush ye! Margot’s dead. |
| Ruth Comfort Mitchell | [50] |
| Hark you such sound as quivers? Kings will hear. |
| Mahlon Leonard Fisher | [61] |
| How an image of paint and wood. |
| Agnes Lee | [12] |
| I know a vale where I would go one day. |
| Bliss Carman | [24] |
| I saw her in a Broadway car. |
| Sara Teasdale | [19] |
| I think that I shall never see. |
| Joyce Kilmer | [7] |
| I thought I had forgotten you. |
| Ethel M. Hewitt | [21] |
| I thought my heart would break. |
| Charles Hanson Towne | [22] |
| I went to the place where my youth took birth. |
| Willard Huntington Wright | [18] |
| If I am slow forgetting. |
| Margaret Lee Ashley | [3] |
| In every line a supple beauty. |
| Willa Sibert Cather | [46] |
| It’s little that I’d care for the glories of Ireland. |
| Edward J. O’Brien | [16] |
| Lest I learn, with clearer sight. |
| Witter Bynner | [18] |
| Lo—to the battle-ground of Life. |
| Louis Untermeyer | [9] |
| Love you not the tall trees spreading wide their branches. |
| Tertius van Dyke | [8] |
| May is building her house. With apple blooms. |
| Richard Le Gallienne | [3] |
| Midnight, and in the darkness not a sound. |
| Sara Teasdale | [13] |
| O blest Imagination. |
| George Edward Woodberry | [28] |
| Oh, joy that burns in Denver tavern. |
| Francis Hill | [49] |
| Old Hezekiah leaned hard on his hoe. |
| Percy MacKaye | [30] |
| One whom I loved and never can forget. |
| Hermann Hagedorn | [23] |
| Outside hove Shasta, snowy height on height. |
| Witter Bynner | [38] |
| Over the dim edge of sleep I lean. |
| Robert Alden Sanborn | [9] |
| Over the wintry threshold. |
| Bliss Carman | [2] |
| Proud men. |
| Nicholas Vachel Lindsay | [39] |
| Sicilian Muse! O thou who sittest dumb. |
| Louis V. Ledoux | [57] |
| Sorrow, quit me for a while. |
| Florence Earle Coates | [20] |
| The moon’s ashine; by many a lane. |
| Richard Burton | [62] |
| The sickle is dulled of the reaping and the threshing-floor is bare. |
| Shaemas OSheel | [43] |
| The snug little room with its brazier fire aglow. |
| William Rose Benét | [34] |
| The twilight is starred. |
| John Hall Wheelock | [20] |
| The Wind bows down the poplar trees. |
| Fannie Stearns Davis | [5] |
| They call you cold New England. |
| Marguerite Mooers Marshall | [27] |
| War shook the land where Levi dwelt. |
| Edwin Arlington Robinson | [48] |
| Weave the dance, and raise again the sacred chorus. |
| Louis V. Ledoux | [1] |
| Weighed down by grief, o’erborne by deep despair. |
| Richard Burton | [23] |
| What of the night? |
| Willard Huntington Wright | [55] |
| With rod and line I took my way. |
| Madison Cawein | [5] |