Accursed Death, what neede was there at all Of thee, or who to councell thee did call; The subiect whereupon these lines I spend For thee was most vnfit, her timelesse end...
No, I'm a man, I'm vull a man, You beat my manhood, if you can. You'll be a man if you can teake All steates that household life do meake. The love-toss'd child, a-croodlen loud,...
Wait for the morning: - It will come, indeed, As surely as the night hath given need. The yearning eyes, at last, will strain their sight No more unanswered by the morning light;...
I still walk slowly on the river bank Where I came singing, And where I saw your boat pass up beyond the sun Setting red in the river. I want Autumn, I want the leaves to begin falling at once,...
Ther's mewsic ith' shuttle, ith' loom, an ith frame, Ther's melody mingled ith' noise; For th' active ther's praises, for th' idle ther's blame, If they'd harken to th' saand of its voice....
Out of the silences wake me a song, Beautiful, sad, and soft, and low; Let the loveliest music sound along, And wing each note with a wail of woe: Dim and drear As hope's last tear;...
Wake up, sweet melody! Now is the hour When young and loving hearts Feel most thy power, One note of music, by moonlight's soft ray-- Oh, 'tis worth thousands heard coldly by day....
John. I'm glad I walk'd. How fresh the meadows look Above the river, and, but a month ago, The whole hill-side was redder than a fox. Is yon plantation where this byway joins The turnpike?...
Oh! there once was a swagman camped in a Billabong, Under the shade of a Coolabah tree; And he sang as he looked at his old billy boiling, "Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?" ...
Wandering at morn, Emerging from the night, from gloomy thoughts, thee in my thoughts, Yearning for thee, harmonious Union! thee, Singing Bird divine!...
"Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" Jeemses Rivers! won't some one ever shet that howl o' his? That-air yellin' drives me wild! Cain't none of ye stop the child?...
Rich, honored by my fellow citizens, The father of many children, born of a noble mother, All raised there In the great mansion - house, at the edge of town. Note the cedar tree on the lawn!...
Gold of the tangled wilderness of wattle, Break in the lone green hollows of the hills, Flame on the iron headlands of the ocean, Gleam on the margin of the hurrying rills. ...
'Weak is the will of Man, his judgment blind; 'Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays; 'Heavy is woe; and joy, for human-kind, 'A mournful thing, so transient is the blaze!'...
Wearies my love of my letters? Does she my silence command? Sunders she Love's rosy fetters As though they were woven of sand? Tires she too of each token Indited with many a sigh?...
Weave in! weave in, my hardy life! Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come; Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight weave in!...