My student-lamp is lighted, The books and papers are spread; A sound comes floating upwards, Chasing the thoughts from my head. I open the garret window,

(From Lenau.) So late, and yet a nightingale? Long since have dropp’d the blosso… The summer fields are ripening, And yet a sound of spring?

At Loschwitz above the city The air is sunny and chill; The birch-trees and the pine-trees Grow thick upon the hill. Lone and tall, with silver stem,

At last; so this is you, my dear! How should I guess to find you he… So long, so long, I sought in vai… In many cities, many lands, With straining eyes and groping ha…

“What should such fellows as I do… Crawling between earth and heaven?… Here is the phial; here I turn th… Sharp in the lock. Click!—there’s… This is the third time; there is l…

What wonder that I should be drea… Out here in the garden to-day? The light through the leaves is st… Paulina cries, “Play!” The birds to each other are callin…

To E.M.S. Here, where your garden fenced abo… Here, where the unmoved summer air… With mixed delight of lavender and… Dreaming I linger in the noontide…

With Apologies to Mr. Swinbur… For repose I have sighed and have… I am held in the Circle of Being… I was wan and weary with life ; my… I was weary of women and war and t…

The sky is silver-grey; the long Slow waves caress the shore.- On such a day as this I have been… Who shall be glad no more.

Straw in the street where I pass… Dulls the sound of the wheels and… ’Tis for a failing life they lay Straw in the street. Here, where the pulses of London…

(A Fragment)>/i> What, have I waked again? I never… To see the rosy dawn, or ev’n this… Dull, solemn stillness, ere the da… The lamp burns low; low burns the…

"To see my love suffices me."… —Ballades in Blue China. Some men to carriages aspire; On some the costly hansoms wait; Some seek a fly, on job or hire;

Back to the mystic shore beyond th… The mystic craft has sped, and lef… Ah, nevermore may she behold his f… Nor touch his hand, nor hear his v… With hidden front she crouches; al…

How like her! But ’tis she hersel… Comes up the crowded street, How little did I think, the morn, My only love to meet! Whose else that motion and that mi…

I may not weep, not weep, and he i… A weary, weary weight of tears uns… Through the long day in my sad hea… The horrid sun with all unpitying… Shines down into the dreary weavin…