Many, many welcomes, February fair-maid, Ever as of old time, Solitary firstling, Coming in the cold time, Prophet of the gay time, Prophet of the May time, Prophet of the roses,...
Sweet type of innocence, snow-clothed blossom, Seemly, though vainly, bowing down to shun The storm hard-beating on thy wan white bosom, Left in the swail, and little cheer'd by sun;...
Marvels of sleep, grown cold! Who hath not longed to fold With pitying ruth, forgetful of their bliss, Those cherub forms that lie, With none to watch them nigh,...
Poor shape grotesque that careless hands have wrought! Frail wistful thing, left gaping at the sun With empty grin, 'tis well no blood shall run Within thy frozen veins, no kindling thought...
No, ne'er did the wave in its element steep An island of lovelier charms; It blooms in the giant embrace of the deep, Like Hebe in Hercules' arms. The blush of your bowers is light to the eye,...
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,...
Over the snows, Buoyantly goes The lumberers' bark canoe; Lightly they sweep, Wilder each leap, Bending the white caps through. Away! away! With the speed of a startled deer,...
The sobbing of the bells, the sudden death-news everywhere, The slumberers rouse, the rapport of the People, (Full well they know that message in the darkness,...
I reside at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James; I am not up to small deceit or any sinful games; And I'll tell in simple language what I know about the row That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow....
If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;...
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled, That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust, But still lies pointed as it ploughed the dust. If we who sight along it round the world,...
Yes. Wh' do we 'll, seeing of a soldier, bless him? bless Our redcoats, our tars? Both these being, the greater part, But frail clay, nay but foul clay. Here it is: the heart,...
Home furthest off grows dearer from the way; And when the army in the Indias lay Friends' letters coming from his native place Were like old neighbours with their country face....
I mind the river from Mount Frome To Ballanshantie's Bridge, The Mudgee Hills, and Buckaroo, Lowe's Peak, and Granite Ridge. The 'tailers' in the creek beneath, The rugged she-oak boles,...
"Deny your God!" they ringed me with their spears; Blood-crazed were they, and reeking from the strife; Hell-hot their hate, and venom-fanged their sneers, And one man spat on me and nursed a knife....