When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me
Here where I dwell I waste to ski… The curse is come upon me, and I… In penal torment powerless to aton… The curse is come on me, which mak… And doth not tarry, crushing both…
You must not call me Maggie, you… For I’m Lady of the Manor now st… And if there comes a babe, as ther… 'Twill be little lord or lady at m… Oh, but what ails you, my sailor c…
A house of cards Is neat and small: Shake the table, It must fall. Find the Court cards
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;
The door was shut. I looked betwe… Its iron bars; and saw it lie, My garden, mine, beneath the sky, Pied with all flowers bedewed and… From bough to bough the song—birds…
Two gaz’d into a pool, he gaz’d an… Not hand in hand, yet heart in hea… Pale and reluctant on the water’s… AS on the brink of parting which… Each eyed the other’s aspect, she…
What would I give for a heart of… Instead of this heart of stone ice… Hard and cold and small, of all he… What would I give for words, if o… But now in its misery my spirit ha…
I wish I could remember that firs… First hour, first moment of your m… If bright or dim the season, it mi… Summer or Winter for aught I can… So unrecorded did it slip away,
The peach tree on the southern wal… Has basked so long beneath the sun… Her score of peaches great and sma… Bloom rosy, every one. A peach for brothers, one for each…
In my Autumn garden I was fain To mourn among my scattered roses; Alas for that last rosebud which u… To Autumn’s languid sun and rain When all the world is on the wane!
What will you give me for my pound… Full twenty shillings round. What will you give me for my shill… Twelve pence to give I’m willing. What will you give me for my penny…
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
I watched a rosebud very long Brought on by dew and sun and show… Waiting to see the perfect flower: Then, when I thought it should be… It opened at the matin hour
Oh roses for the flush of youth, And laurel for the perfect prime; But pluck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time. Oh violets for the grave of youth,