In the courts of truth tread softly, Though your tread be firm and bold; Your steps may awaken echoes, Resounding through years untold. The trend of the age is onward, And you should not lag behind;...
Oh, Villa Maria, thrice favored spot, Unclouded sunshine is still thy lot Since first, 'neath thy mortal old, The spouses of Christ - working out God's will, Meekly entered, their mission high to fill...
Lie here, without a record of thy worth, Beneath a covering of the common earth! It is not from unwillingness to praise, Or want of love, that here no Stone we raise;...
Out of the night arose the second day, And saw the ship's bows break the shoreward spray. As the sun's boat of gold and fire began To sail the sea of heaven unsailed of man,...
About the middle music of the spring Came from the castled shore of Ireland's king A fair ship stoutly sailing, eastward bound And south by Wales and all its wonders round...
But all that year in Brittany forlorn, More sick at heart with wrath than fear of scorn And less in love with love than grief, and less With grief than pride of spirit and bitterness,...
You lazy boy, you're here at last, You must be wooden-legged; Now, are you sure the gate is fast And all the sliprails pegged And all the milkers at the yard, The calves all in the pen?...
Brown earth, sun-soaked, Beneath his head And over the quiet limbs.... Through time unreckoned Lay this brown earth for him. Now is he come. Truly he hath a sweet bed.
When shall we meet again? One more year passed; One more of grief and pain; - Maybe the last. Are the years sending us Farther apart? Or love still blending us Heart into heart?...
This world's full o' trubbles fowk say, but aw daat it, Yo'll find as mich pleasure as pain; Some grummel at times when they might do withaat it, An oft withaat reason complain....
Try to remember some details. Remember the clothing of the one you love so that on the day of loss you'll be able to say: last seen wearing such-and-such, brown jacket, white hat....
Twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy brow? Such glory then thy beauty sheds, I almost think, while awed I bow 'Tis Rhea's self before me treads. Be what thou wilt,--this heart Adores whate'er thou art!...
Once a fowler, young and artless, To the quiet greenwood came; Full of skill was he and heartless In pursuit of feathered game. And betimes he chanced to see Eros perching in a tree. ...