As (woo'd by May's delights) I have been borne To take the kind air of a wistful morn Near Tavy's voiceful stream (to whom I owe More strains than from my pipe can ever flow),...
March! The mud is cakin' good about our trousies. Front!, eyes front, an' watch the Colour-casin's drip. Front! The faces of the women in the 'ouses Ain't the kind o' things to take aboard the ship. ...
March! The mud is cakin' good about our trousies. Front! eyes front, an' watch the Colour-casin's drip. Front! The faces of the women in the 'ouses Ain't the kind o' things to take aboard the ship. ...
Art thou not sweet, Oh world, and glad to the inmost heart of thee! All creatures rejoice With one rapturous voice. As I, with the passionate beat Of my over-full heart feel thee sweet,...
Why are ye silent, Birds? Where do ye fly? Winter's not violent, With such a Spring sky. The wheatlands are green, snow and frost are away, Birds, why are ye silent on such a sweet day? ...
Birth and death, twin-sister and twin-brother, Night and day, on all things that draw breath, Reign, while time keeps friends with one another Birth and death. ...
I Love and praise, and a length of days whose shadow cast upon time is light, Days whose sound was a spell shed round from wheeling wings as of doves in flight,...
Small is the new-born plant scarce seen Amid the soft encircling green, Where yonder budding acorn rears, Just o'er the waving grass, its tender head: Slow pass along the train of years,...
And wouldst thou seek the low abode Where PEACE delights to dwell? Pause Traveller on thy way of life! With many a snare and peril rife Is that long labyrinth of road: Dark is the vale of years before...
Strophe 1. Spring, born in heaven ere many a springtime flown, Dead spring that sawest on earth A babe of deathless birth, A flower of rosier flowerage than thine own,...
I'll tell you a Fairy Tale that's new: How the merry Elves o'er the ocean flew From the Emerald isle to this far-off shore, As they were wont in the days of yore;...
Lord Rameses of Egypt sighed Because a summer evening passed; And little Ariadne cried That summer fancy fell at last To dust; and young Verona died When beauty's hour was overcast. ...
No more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk. A final glass for me, tho'; cool, i'faith! We ought to have our Abbey back, you see. It's different, preaching in basilicas,...
Not all disgraced, in that Italian town, The imperial German cowered beneath thine hand, Alone indeed imperial Hildebrand, And felt thy foot and Rome's, and felt her frown...