Know I not whom thou mayst be Carved upon this olive-tree, 'Manuela of La Torre,' For around on broken walls Summer sun and spring rain falls, And in vain the low wind calls 'Manuela of La Torre.'...
'Tis time to dress. Dost hear the music surging Like sobbing waves that roll up from the sea? Yes, yes, I hear -I yield -no need of urging; I know your wishes, -send Lisette to me. ...
[The spectacle of the life of the London Dock labourers is one of the most terrible examples of the logical outcome of the present social system. In the six great metropolitan docks over 100,000 men are employed, the great bulk...
None ever knew his name, Honoured, or one of shame, Highborn or lowly; Only upon that tree Two letters, J and C, Carved by him, mark where he Lay dying slowly.
'Grill me some bones,' said the Cobbler, 'Some bones, my pretty Sue; I'm tired of my lonesome with heels and soles, Springsides and uppers too; A mouse in the wainscot is nibbling;...
There's a sunny Southern land, And it's there that I would be Where the big hills stand, In the South Countrie! When the wattles bloom again, Then it's time for us to go To the old Monaro country...
At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air,...
The water-wheel goes 'round and 'round With heavy sighs of mournful sound, While dismal cries and weary moans Unite with sad and tearful groans, And weeping waves of water throw...
The curtain rose, the play began, The limelight on the gay garbs shone; Yet carelessly I gazed upon The painted players, maid and man, As one with idle eyes who sees The marble figures on a frieze....
The house was crammed from roof to floor, Heads piled on heads at every door; Half dead with August's seething heat I crowded on and found my seat, My patience slightly out of joint,...
A lovely show for eyes to see I looked upon this morning, - A bright-hued, feathered company Of nature's own adorning; But ah! those minstrels would not sing A listening ear while I lent, -...
A woman was playing, A man looking on; And the mould of her face, And her neck, and her hair, Which the rays fell upon Of the two candles there, Sent him mentally straying In some fancy-place...
"There is not much that I can do, For I've no money that's quite my own!" Spoke up the pitying child - A little boy with a violin At the station before the train came in, -...
In youth, Death was a puny boy possessing but wormy hands & fleshless fingers as in Witch Hazel or Scrooge's Future Ghost - that insipid Evil One Hansel so easily outwitted...