When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;...
When you are old, and I am passed away Passed, and your face, your golden face, is gray I think, whate'er the end, this dream of mine, Comforting you, a friendly star will shine...
"Where are the visions that round me once hovered, "Forms that shed grace from their shadows alone; "Looks fresh as light from a star just discovered, "And voices that Music might take for her own?"...
Where are you sleeping to-night, My Lad, Above-ground--or below? The last we heard you were up at the front, Holding a trench and bearing the brunt;-- But--that was a week ago. ...
O the Lands of Where-Away! Tell us - tell us - where are they? Through the darkness and the dawn We have journeyed on and on - From the cradle to the cross - From possession unto loss, -...
I see thee still in doublet wide, And hose well kept, a world too slack, So long and lean thou wert allied, It struck me, with that curious back, The Zoo giraffe. Thy brow was black,...
Where forlorn sunsets flare and fade On desolate sea and lonely sand, Out of the silence and the shade What is the voice of strange command Calling you still, as friend calls friend...
Where is your dwelling, ye Sainted? Thro' what Elysium more bright Than fancy or hope ever painted, Walk ye in glory and light? Who the same kingdom inherits? Breathes there a soul that may dare...
Where shall we bury our shame? Where, in what desolate place, Hide the last wreck of a name Broken and stained by disgrace? Death may dissever the chain, Oppression will cease when we're gone;...
While Anna's peers and early playmates tread, In freedom, mountain-turf and river's marge; Or float with music in the festal barge; Rein the proud steed, or through the dance are led;...
While beams of orient light shoot wide and high, Deep in the vale a little rural Town Breathes forth a cloud-like creature of its own, That mounts not toward the radiant morning sky,...
Slow de night 's a-fallin', An' I hyeah de callin, Out erpon de lonesome hill; Soun' is moughty dreary, Solemn-lak an' skeery, Sayin' fu' to "whip po' Will."
Whoe'er thou art whose path in summer lies Through yonder village, turn thee where the grove Of branching oaks a rural palace old Imbosoms. there dwells Albert, generous lord...