I Soft, small, and sweet as sunniest flowers That bask in heavenly heat When bud by bud breaks, breathes, and cowers, Soft, small, and sweet. A babe's hands open as to greet...
It is a circumstance connected with the history of Nero, that every spring and summer, for many years after his death, fresh and beautiful flowers were nightly scattered upon his grave by some unknown hand. ...
The hills hang woods around, where green, below Dark, breezy boughs of beech-trees, mats the moss, Crisp with the brittle hulls of last year's nuts; The water hums one bar there; and a glow...
The mounting lark (day's herald) got on wing, Bidding each bird choose out his bough and sing. The lofty treble sung the little wren; Robin the mean, that best of all loves men;...
Since Anna, whose bounty thy merits had fed, Ere her own was laid low, had exalted thy head: And since our good queen to the wise is so just, To raise heads for such as are humbled in dust,...
NO master sage, nor orator I know, Who can success, like gentle Cupid show; His ways and arguments are pleasing smiles, Engaging looks, soft tears, and winning wiles. Wars in his empire will at times arise,...
What is the song the children sing, When doorway lilacs bloom in Spring, And the Schools are loosed, and the games are played That were deadly earnest when Earth was made?...
Over a mountain slope with lentisk, and with abounding Arbutus, and the red oak overtufted, 'mid a noontide Now glowing fervidly, the Leto-born, the divine one, Artemis, Arcadian wood-rover, alone, hunt-weary,...
I have sipped, with drooping lashes, Dreamy draughts of Verzenay; I have flourished brandy-smashes In the wildest sort of way; I have joked with "Tom and Jerry" Till wee hours ayont the twal' -...
The Text.--The earliest complete text, here given, was printed by William Copland between 1548 and 1568: there are extant two printed fragments, one printed by John Byddell in 1536, and the other in a type older than Copland's....
A fool I was to sleep at noon, And wake when night is chilly Beneath the comfortless cold moon; A fool to pluck my rose too soon, A fool to snap my lily.
She has the eyes of some barbarian Queen Leading her wild tribes into battle; eyes, Wherein th' unconquerable soul defies, And Love sits throned, imperious and serene. ...