To-day the world is wide and fair With sunny fields of lucid air, And waters dancing everywhere; The snow is almost gone; The noon is builded high with light, And over heaven's liquid height,...
April is in the world again, And all the world is filled with flowers - Flowers for others, not for me! For my one flower I cannot see, Lost in the April showers.
How deep the April night is in its noon, The hopeful, solemn, many-murmured night! The earth lies hushed with expectation; bright Above the world's dark border burns the moon,...
Lad, and can you rest now, There beneath your hill! Your hands are on your breast now, But is your heart so still? 'Twas the right death to die, lad, A gift without regret,...
The leaves are fresh after the rain, The air is cool and clear, The sun is shining warm again, The sparrows hopping in the lane Are brisk and full of cheer.
The hinges are so rusty The door is fixed and fast; The windows are so dusty The sun looks in aghast: Knock out the glass, I pray, Or dash the door away, Or break the house down bodily,...
Where I can see him all day long And hear his wild, spontaneous song, Before my window in his cage, A blithe canary sits and swings, And circles round on golden wings; And startles all the vicinage...
I see the ghost of a perished day; I know his face, and the feel of his dawn: 'Twas he who took me far away To a spot strange and gray: Look at me, Day, and then pass on, But come again: yes, come anon!...
Does that lamp still burn in my Father's house, Which he kindled the night I went away? I turned once beneath the cedar boughs, And marked it gleam with a golden ray; Did he think to light me home some day?...
As many laws and lawyers do express Nought but a kingdom's ill-affectedness; Even so, those streets and houses do but show Store of diseases where physicians flow.
While to the clarion blown by Marlowe's breath Tall Tragedy tramped by in hues of death, And Shakespeare yet was tuning string by string, With English hawthorn crowned, in that glad spring...
The enclosed prologue is formed upon the story of the secretary's not allowing you to act, unless you would pay him '300 per annum; upon which you got a license from the Lord Mayor to act as strollers....
As when that hero, who, in each campaign, Had braved the Goth, and many a Vandal slain, Lay fortune-struck, a spectacle of woe! Wept by each friend, forgiven by every foe:...
By the pure spring, whose haunted waters flow Through thy sequester'd dell unto the sea, At sunny noon, I will appear to thee: Not troubling the still fount with drops of woe,...