Mavel of marvels, if I myself sha… With mine own eyes my King in His… Where the least of lambs is spotle… Where the least and last of saints… Where the dimmest head beyond a mo…
I cannot tell you how it was, But this I know: it came to pass Upon a bright and sunny day When May was young; ah, pleasant… As yet the poppies were not born
Crying, my little one, footsore an… Fall asleep, pretty one, warm on m… I must tramp on through the winter… While the snow falls on me colder… You are my one, and I have not an…
I sat beneath a willow tree, Where water falls and calls; While fancies upon fancies solaced… Some true, and some were false. Who set their heart upon a hope
Is the moon tired? she looks so pa… Within her misty veil: She scales the sky from east to we… And takes no rest. Before the coming of the night
While roses are so red, While lilies are so white, Shall a woman exalt her face Because it gives delight? She’s not so sweet as a rose,
It is over. What is over? Nay, now much is over truly!— Harvest days we toiled to sow for; Now the sheaves are gathered newly… Now the wheat is garnered duly.
Mother shake the cherry—tree, Susan catch a cherry; Oh how funny that will be, Let’s be merry! One for brother, one for sister,
I was a cottage maiden Hardened by sun and air Contented with my cottage mates, Not mindful I was fair. Why did a great lord find me out,
Two doves upon the selfsame branch… Two lilies on a single stem, Two butterflies upon one flower:— Oh happy they who look on them. Who look upon them hand in hand
Blind from my birth, Where flowers are springing I sit on earth All dark. Hark! hark!
The earth was green, the sky was b… I saw and heard one sunny morn A skylark hang betweent he two, A singing speck above the corn; A stage below, in gay accord,
Angels at the foot, And Angels at the head, And like a curly little lamb My pretty babe in bed.
I wonder if the sap is stirring ye… If wintry birds are dreaming of a… If frozen snowdrops feel as yet th… And crocus fires are kindling one… Sing, robin, sing;
Maiden May sat in her bower, In her blush rose bower in flower, Sweet of scent; Sat and dreamed away an hour, Half content, half uncontent.