Laura, my Laura! 'Yes, mother!' 'I want you, Laura; come down.' 'What is it, mother - what, dearest? O your loved face how it pales! You tremble, alas and alas - you heard bad news from the town?'...
She was but a child, a child, And I a man grown; Sweet she was, and fresh, and wild, And, I thought, my own. What could I do? The long grass groweth, The long wave floweth with a murmur on:...
Once upon a time, I lay Fast asleep at dawn of day; Windows open to the south, Fancy pouting her sweet mouth To my ear. She turned a globe In her slender hand, her robe...
I saw when I looked up, on either hand, A pale high chalk-cliff, reared aloft in white; A narrowing rent soon closed toward the land, - Toward the sea, an open yawning bight. ...
"Martin, I wonder who makes all the songs." "You do, sir?" "Yes, I wonder how they come." "Well, boy, I wonder what you'll wonder next!" "But somebody must make them?" "Sure enough."...
I passed an inland-cliff precipitate; From tiny caves peeped many a soot-black poll; In each a mother-martin sat elate, And of the news delivered her small soul. ...
When in a May-day hush Chanteth the Missel-thrush The harp o' the heart makes answer with murmurous stirs; When Robin-redbreast sings, We think on budding springs,...
When I hear the waters fretting, When I see the chestnut letting All her lovely blossom falter down, I think, "Alas the day!" Once with magical sweet singing, Blackbirds set the woodland ringing,...