Will he ever be weary of wandering, The flaming sun? Ever weary of waning in lovelight, The white still moon? Will ever a shepherd come With a crook of simple gold, And lead all the little stars...
Our Mr. Jiggs was certainly an estimable youth, A pillar of propriety, a champion of truth; He had a good position in a warehouse in the town; A staunch church-worker, he became a layman of renown. ...
There is something about Death Like love itself! If with some one with whom you have known passion And the glow of youthful love, You also, after years of life Together, feel the sinking of the fire...
WILLIAM. When I meet Peggy in my morning walk, She first salutes the morn, then stays to talk: The biggest secret she will not refuse, But freely tells me all the village-news;...
That love of letters which is as the light Of deathless verse, intense, ineffable, Hath made this scholar's nature like the white, Pure Roman soul of whom the poets tell. ...
He came to the desert of London town Gray miles long; He wandered up and he wandered down, Singing a quiet song. He came to the desert of London town, Mirk miles broad;...
Not squirrels in the park alone His love and winter-kindness own. When Literary Fledglings try Their wings, in first attempt to fly, They flutter down to Franklin Square,...
To all in the village I seemed, no doubt, To go this way and that way, aimlessly. . But here by the river you can see at twilight The soft - winged bats fly zig-zag here and there -...
Was it a dream?--that crowded concert-room In Bath; that sea of ruffles and laced coats; And William Herschel, in his powdered wig, Waiting upon the platform, to conduct...
There by the window in the old house Perched on the bluff, overlooking miles of valley, My days of labor closed, sitting out life's decline, Day by day did I look in my memory,...
Once in a while a curious weed unknown to me, Needing a name from my books; Once in a while a letter from Yeomans. Out of the mussel-shells gathered along the shore...
He sits before you silent as Buddha, And then you say This man is Rabelais. And while you wonder what his stock is, English or Irish, you behold his eyes As big and brown as those desirable crockies...
The reign of King William the Second Were an uninteresting affair There's only two things that's remembered of him That's his sudden death and his red hair.