Works

Rose o' my hert,
Open yer leaves to the lampin mune;
Into the curls lat her keek an' dert,
She'll tak the colour but gie ye tune.

Buik o' my brain,
Open yer faulds to the starry signs;...

A



A was an Area Arch
Where washerwomen sat;
They made a lot of lovely starch
To starch Papa's Cravat.


B



B was a Bottle blue,...

tumbled down, and hurt his Arm, against a bit of wood,

said. "My Boy, oh, do not cry; it cannot do you good!"

said, "A Cup of Coffee hot can't do you any harm."
...

Curly head, and laughing eyes,--
Mischief that all blame defies.

Cricket,--footer,--Eton-jacket,--
Everlasting din and racket.

Tennis,--boating,--socks and ties,--
Tragedies,--and comedies....

I, Alphonso, live and learn,
Seeing Nature go astern.
Things deteriorate in kind;
Lemons run to leaves and rind;
Meagre crop of figs and limes;
Shorter days and harder times....

Our lives are Swiss, --
So still, so cool,
Till, some odd afternoon,
The Alps neglect their curtains,
And we look farther on.

Italy stands the other side,
While, like a guard between,...

A hundred times already the sun had leaped, radiant or saddened, from the immense cup of the sea whose rim could scarcely be seen; a hundred times it had again sunk, glittering or morose, into its mighty bath of twilight. For m...

Or shall I say, Vain word, false thought,
Since prudence hath her martyrs too,
And Wisdom dictates not to do,
Till doing shall be not for nought.

Not ours to give or lose is life;...

All the morn a spirit gay
Breathes within my heart a rhyme,
'Tis but hide and seek we play
In and out the courts of Time.

Fairy lover, when my feet
Through the tangled woodland go,...

Saddle and ride, I heard a man say,
Out of Ben Bulben and Knocknarea,
i(What says the Clock in the Great Clock Tower?)
All those tragic characters ride
But turn from Rosses' crawling tide,...

Alter? When the hills do.
Falter? When the sun
Question if his glory
Be the perfect one.

Surfeit? When the daffodil
Doth of the dew:
Even as herself, O friend!
I will of you!

I wonder
how it would be here with you,
where the wind
that has shaken off its dust in low valleys
touches one cleanly,
as with a new-washed hand,
and pain...

Weep, weep, weep and weep,
For pauper, dolt, and slave!
Hark! from wasted moor and fen,
Feverous alley, stifling den,
Swells the wail of Saxon men -
Work! or the grave!
...

Tha'rt a rough en; - aye tha art, - an aw'll bet
Just as ready. Tha ne'er lived as a pet,
Aw can tell.
Ther's noa mistress weshed thi skin, cooam'd thi heead;
Net mich pettin; kicks an cuffins oft asteead,...

The stars are twinkling in the skies,
The earth is lost in slumbers deep;
So hush, my sweet, and close thine eyes,
And let me lull thy soul to sleep.
Compose thy dimpled hands to rest,...

I.

In her wimple of wind and her slippers of sleep
The twilight comes like a little goose-girl,
Herding her owls with many"tu-whoos,"
Her little brown owls in the woodland deep,...

The sun is clear of bird and cloud,
The grass shines windless, grey, and still,
In dusky ruin the owl dreams on,
The cuckoo echoes on the hill;
Yet soft along Alulvan's walks...

The mighty mountain flings its mist-veil down;
With little flowers the gracious fields are bright,
And from the forest colors flash to sight
Like gems that drop from off a Calif's crown....

The drooping, weary day night pushed aside;
On Tschatir Dagh the sullen sun and low
Paints phantom purple upon ancient snow;
While forest ways within, the wanderers hide....

Always at sea I think about the dead.
On barques invisible they seem to sail
The self-same course; and from the decks cry 'Hail'!
Then I recall old words that they have said,...