We'll go no more a-roving by the light of the moon. November glooms are barren beside the dusk of June. The summer flowers are faded, the summer thoughts are sere....
Were all the world like you, my dear, Were all the world like you, Oh, there'd be darts in all our hearts From sunset to the dew. For life would be Love's jubilee Where all were two and two,...
Crouch'd on the pavement close by Belgrave Square A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue-tied; A babe was in her arms, and at her side A girl; their clothes were rags, their feet were bare....
We two, how long we were fool'd! Now transmuted, we swiftly escape, as Nature escapes; We are Nature, long have we been absent, but now we return; We become plants, leaves, foliage, roots, bark;...
"Here, Charlotte," said Mamma one day. "These stockings knit while I'm away, And should you fail, be sure you'll find Mamma is strict, although she's kind."
What heavenly smiles! O Lady mine Through my very heart they shine; And, if my brow gives back their light, Do thou look gladly on the sight; As the clear Moon with modest pride...
And what is Life?--An hour-glass on the run, A mist retreating from the morning sun, A busy, bustling, still repeated dream; Its length?--A minute's pause, a moment's thought;...
Resembles Life what once was held of Light, Too ample in itself for human sight? An absolute Self, an element ungrounded All, that we see, all colours of all shade By encroach of darkness made?...
And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run, A mist retreating from the morning sun, A busy, bustling, still repeated dream; Its length?--A minute's pause, a moment's thought;...
What is right living? Just to do your best When worst seems easier. To bear the ills Of daily life with patient cheerfulness Nor waste dear time recounting them. To talk...
The words we speak on the empty air, Are never lost, but recorded there; The process we may not comprehend, Nor how the words with the air may blend, But science shows what results may be;...
Love starts with a little throb in the heart, And in the end one dies Like an ill-treated toy. Love is born in a look or in four words, The little spark that burnt the whole house....
Quest. Why is a Pump like Viscount Castlereagh? Answ. Because it is a slender thing of wood, That up and down its awkward arm doth sway, And coolly spout and spout and spout away,...
O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind, Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars, To thee the spring will be a harvest-time....