Beneath a knap where flown Nestlings play, Within walls of weathered stone, Far away From the files of formal houses, By the bough the firstling browses,...
I hear the bell-rope sawing, And the oil-less axle grind, As I sit alone here drawing What some Gothic brain designed; And I catch the toll that follows From the lagging bell,...
They sing their dearest songs - He, she, all of them - yea, Treble and tenor and bass, And one to play; With the candles mooning each face . . . Ah, no; the years O!...
'Twas a death-bed summons, and forth I went By the way of the Western Wall, so drear On that winter night, and sought a gate - The home, by Fate, Of one I had long held dear. ...
I lingered through the night to break of day, Nor once did sleep extend a wing to me, Intently busied with a vast array Of epithets that should outfigure thee. ...
The two were silent in a sunless church, Whose mildewed walls, uneven paving-stones, And wasted carvings passed antique research; And nothing broke the clock's dull monotones....
I shall rot here, with those whom in their day You never knew, And alien ones who, ere they chilled to clay, Met not my view, Will in your distant grave-place ever neighbour you.
A plain tilt-bonnet on her head She took the path across the leaze. - Her spouse the vicar, gardening, said, "Too dowdy that, for coquetries, So I can hoe at ease. ...
Pet was never mourned as you, Purrer of the spotless hue, Plumy tail, and wistful gaze While you humoured our queer ways, Or outshrilled your morning call Up the stairs and through the hall -...
Lonely her fate was, Environed from sight In the house where the gate was Past finding at night. None there to share it, No one to tell: Long she'd to bear it, And bore it well. ...
When your soft welcomings were said, This curl was waving on your head, And when we walked where breakers dinned It sported in the sun and wind, And when I had won your words of grace...
When a night in November Blew forth its bleared airs An infant descended His birth-chamber stairs For the very first time, At the still, midnight chime; All unapprehended...
The rain imprinted the step's wet shine With target-circles that quivered and crossed As I was leaving this porch of mine; When from within there swelled and paused A song's sweet note;...
Who now remembers Almack's balls - Willis's sometime named - In those two smooth-floored upper halls For faded ones so famed? Where as we trod to trilling sound...