To-night the clouds hang very low, They take the Hill-tops to their breast, And lay their arms about the fields. The wind that fans me lying low, Restless with great desire for rest,...
This day, O Soul, I give you a wondrous mirror; Long in the dark, in tarnish and cloud it lay But the cloud has pass'd, and the tarnish gone; Behold, O Soul! it is now a clean and bright mirror,...
At midnight, in the room where he lay dead Whom in his life I had never clearly read, I thought if I could peer into that citadel His heart, I should at last know full and well ...
This Life, which seems so fair, Is like a bubble blown up in the air By sporting children's breath, Who chase it everywhere And strive who can most motion it bequeath....
This section is a Christmas tree: Loaded with pretty toys for you. Behold the blocks, the Noah's arks, The popguns painted red and blue. No solemn pine-cone forest-fruit,...
The rich man sat in his father's seat-- Purple an' linen, an' a'thing fine! The puir man lay at his yett i' the street-- Sairs an' tatters, an' weary pine!
This world is all a fleeting show, For man's illusion given; The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow-- There's nothing true but Heaven! ...
Tho' lightly sounds the song I sing to thee, Tho' like the lark's its soaring music be, Thou'lt find even here some mournful note that tells How near such April joy to weeping dwells....
The great work laid upon his twoscore years Is done, and well done. If we drop our tears, Who loved him as few men were ever loved, We mourn no blighted hope nor broken plan...
We severed in autumn early, Ere the earth was torn by the plough; The wheat and the oats and the barley Are ripe for the harvest now. We sunder'd one misty morning,...
There's no wind along these seas, Out oars for Stavanger! Forward all for Stavanger! So we must wake the white-ash breeze. Let fall for Stavanger! A long pull for Stavanger! ...
Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells, Of youth and home and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime.
Tho' the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me; In exile thy bosom shall still be my home, And thine eyes make my climate wherever we room. ...
Thou bidst me sing the lay I sung to thee In other days ere joy had left this brow; But think, tho' still unchanged the notes may be, How different feels the heart that breathes them now!...
When in summer thou walkest In the meads by the river, And to thyself talkest, Dost thou think of one ever-- A lost and a lorn one That adores thee and loves thee? And when happy morn's gone,...
Talk not, my Lord, of unrequited love, Since love requites itself most royally. Do we not live but by the sun above, And takes he any heed of thee or me?
Through narrow be that old Man's cares, and near, The poor old Man is greater than he seems: For he hath waking empire, wide as dreams; An ample sovereignty of eye and ear....