There’s snow on the fields, And cold in the cottage, While I sit in the chimney nook Supping hot pottage. My clothes are soft and warm,
Oh what is that country And where can it be, Not mine own country, But dearer far to me? Yet mine own country,
Contemptuous of his home beyond The village and the village—pond, A large—souled Frog who spurned e… Hopped along the imperial highway. Nor grunting pig nor barking dog
Something this foggy day, a someth… Is neither of this fog nor of toda… Has set me dreaming of the winds t… Past certain cliffs, along one cer… And turn the topmost edge of waves…
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,
Where innocent bright—eyed daisies… With blades of grass between, Each daisy stands up like a star Out of a sky of green.
Passing away, saith the World, pa… Chances, beauty and youth, sapp’d… Thy life never continueth in one s… Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark… That hath won neither laurel nor b…
By day she woos me, soft, exceedin… But all night as the moon so chang… Loathsome and foul with hideous le… And subtle serpents gliding in her… By day she woos me to the outer ai…
“Too late for love, too late for j… Too late, too late! You loitered on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch
In the meadow —what in the meadow? Bluebells, buttercups, meadowsweet… And fairy rings for the children’s… In the meadow. In the garden —what in the garden?
How many seconds in a minute? Sixty, and no more in it. How many minutes in an hour? Sixty for sun and shower. How many hours in a day?
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
In the bleak midwinter, frosty win… Earth stood hard as iron, water li… Snow had fallen, snow on snow, sno… In the bleak midwinter, long ago. Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him,…
Flowers preach to us if we will he… The rose saith in the dewy morn: I am most fair; Yet all my loveliness is born Upon a thorn.
Hope is like a harebell trembling… Love is like a rose the joy of all… Faith is like a lily lifted high a… Love is like a lovely rose the wor… Harebells and sweet lilies show a…