famous poetry

a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
in all things not spoken of
i had over-prepared the event
do i like it
there were three in the meadow by the brook
just as my fingers on these keys
were it not for that singular smell
the saddest of the year
with the meek, brown eyes
if the red slayer think he slays
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
lived by the river-side
star-dust and vaporous light
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways