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,...
A little time, O Love, a little light, A little hour for ease before the night. Sweet Love, that art so bitter; foolish Love, Whom wise men know for wiser, and thy dove...
But that same night in Cornwall oversea Couched at Queen Iseult's hand, against her knee, With keen kind eyes that read her whole heart's pain Fast at wide watch lay Tristram's hound Hodain,...
The sky, grown dull through many waiting days, Flashed into crimson with the sunrise charm, So all my love, aroused to vague alarm, Flushed into fire and burned with eager blaze....
College.--We announced, in our last that Lefroy and Shaw were returned. They were chaired yesterday; the Students of the College determined, it would seem, to imitate the mob in all things, harnessing themselves to the car, and...
Next morning Troilus began to clear His eyes from sleep, at the first break of day, And unto Pandarus, his own Brother dear, For love of God, full piteously did say,...
One day old Trooper Campbell Rode out to Blackman's Run, His cap-peak and his sabre Were glancing in the sun. 'Twas New Year's Eve, and slowly Across the ridges low The sad Old Year was drifting...
Troopin', troopin', troopin' to the sea: 'Ere's September come again, the six-year men are free. O leave the dead be'ind us, for they cannot come away To where the ship's a-coalin' up that takes us 'ome to-day....
The moon is broken in twain, and half a moon Before me lies on the still, pale floor of the sky; The other half of the broken coin of troth Is buried away in the dark, where the still dead lie....
Dey was oncet a awful quoil 'twixt de skillet an' de pot; De pot was des a-bilin' an' de skillet sho' was hot. Dey slurred each othah's colah an' dey called each othah names,...
When the German troops were marching with the Uhlans far ahead, The objective point being Paris, as the Berlin wireless said, There was trouble in the Louvre, 'mong the paintings on the walls,...
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?...
The walls don't lack sincerity, here, or be accused of "ordinary," what with the bleached remains of a carbon skull, a yellowing pike head of uncertain girth, adder-like fangs...
Far inland here Death's pinions mocked the roar Of English seas; We sleep to wake no more, Hushed, and at ease; Till sound a trump, shore on to echoing shore, Rouse from a peace, unwonted then to war,...
God, what a world, if men in street and mart Felt that same kinship of the human heart Which makes them, in the face of flame and flood, Rise to the meaning of true Brotherhood!
The highest culture is to speak no ill; The best reformer is the man whose eyes Are quick to see all beauty and all worth; And by his own discreet, well-ordered life, Alone reproves the erring....