When Lent and Responsions are end… When May with fritillaries waits, When the flower of the chestnut is… When drags are at all of the gates (Those drags the philosopher 'slat…

The graver by Apollo’s shrine, Before the Gods had fled, would s… A shell or onyx in his hand, To copy there the face divine, Till earnest touches, line by line…

There liv’d twa sisters in a bower… Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. There liv’d twa sisters in a bower… Stirling for aye: The youngest o’ them, O, she was…

In the Aves of Aristophanes, the Bird Chorus declare that they are older than the Gods, and greater benefactors of men. This idea recurs in almost all savage mythologies, and I have ma...

The hours are passing slow, I hear their weary tread Clang from the tower, and go Back to their kinsfolk dead. Sleep! death’s twin brother dread!

Oh, where are the endless Romance… Our grandmothers used to adore? The Knights with their helms and… Their shields and the favours they… And the Monks with their magical…

For thee soft crowns in thine untr… I wove, my lady, and to thee I be… Thither no shepherd drives his flo… Nor scythe of steel has ever labou… Nay, through the spring among the…

The burden of hard hitting: slog a… Here shalt thou make a “five” and… And then upon thy bat shalt lean,… That thou art in for an uncommon s… Yea, the loud ring applauding thee…

Nay, tell me now in what strange a… The Roman Flora dwells to-day. Where Archippiada hides, and wher… Beautiful Thais has passed away? Whence answers Echo, afield, astr…

How Œdipous departed, who may tell Save Theseus only? for there neit… The burning bolt of thunder, and t… To blast him into nothing, nor the… Of sea-tide spurred by tempest on…

Ah, mystic child of Beauty, namel… Dateless and fatherless, how long… A Greek, with some rare sadness o… Shaped thee, perchance, and quite… Or Raphael thy sweetness did best…

This life—one was thinking to-day, In the midst of a medley of fancie… Is a game, and the board where we… Green earth with her poppies and p… Let manque be faded romances,

Nay, be you pardoner or cheat, Or cogger keen, or mumper shy, You’ll burn your fingers at the fe… And howl like other folks that fry… All evil folks that love a lie!

Mid April seemed like some Novemb… When through the glassy waters, du… Our boat, like shadowy barques tha… Slipped down the long shores of th… Rounded a point,—and San Terenzo…

Villanelle, why art thou mute? Hath the singer ceased to sing? Hath the Master lost his lute? Many a pipe and scrannel flute On the breeze their discords fling…