Where shall the lover rest Whom the fates sever From the true maiden's breast, Parted for ever? Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the fair billow, Where early violets die,...
Where shall we bury our shame? Where, in what desolate place, Hide the last wreck of a name Broken and stained by disgrace? Death may dissever the chain, Oppression will cease when we're gone;...
I saw her crop a rose Right early in the day, And I went to kiss the place Where she broke the rose away And I saw the patten rings Where she oer the stile had gone, And I love all other things...
Oh, where's the use of having gifts that can't be turned to money? And where's the use of singing, when there's no one wants to hear? It may be one or two will say your songs are sweet as honey,...
While Anna's peers and early playmates tread, In freedom, mountain-turf and river's marge; Or float with music in the festal barge; Rein the proud steed, or through the dance are led;...
While beams of orient light shoot wide and high, Deep in the vale a little rural Town Breathes forth a cloud-like creature of its own, That mounts not toward the radiant morning sky,...
While gazing on the moon's light, A moment from her smile I turned, To look at orbs, that, more bright, In lone and distant glory burned. But too far Each proud star,...
While History's Muse the memorial was keeping Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves, Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping, For hers was the story that blotted the leaves....
I has hyeahd o' people dancin' an' I 's hyeahd o' people singin'. An' I 's been 'roun' lots of othahs dat could keep de banjo ringin'; But of all de whistlin' da'kies dat have lived an' died since Ham,...
Whoe'er thou art whose path in summer lies Through yonder village, turn thee where the grove Of branching oaks a rural palace old Imbosoms. there dwells Albert, generous lord...
Who fancied what a pretty sight This Rock would be if edged around With living snow-drops? circlet bright! How glorious to this orchard-ground! Who loved the little Rock, and set...
Who is the Maid my spirit seeks, Thro' cold reproof and slander's blight? Has she Love's roses on her cheeks? Is hers an eye of this world's light? No--wan and sunk with midnight prayer...
Jes' a little bit o' feller - I remember still - Ust to almost cry fer Christmas, like a youngster will. Fourth o' July's nothin' to it! - New Year's ain't a smell!...
O my prow vas plack mit curses, Ven I dries to write dose verses; Ven I dries to write dot boem, Dot de best was effer been. All in vain my peer I guzzles, But I gannod solve dot broblem,...
Who was it swept against my door just now, With rustling robes like Autumn's - was it thou? Ah! would it were thy gown against my door - Only thy gown once more. ...