Sleep, little Baby, sleep, The holy Angels love thee, And guard thy bed, and keep A blessed watch above thee. No spirit can come near
Playing at bob cherry Tom and Nell and Hugh: Cherry bob! cherry bob! There’s a bob for you. Tom bobs a cherry
What do the stars do Up in the sky, Higher than the wind can blow, Or the clouds can fly? Each star in its own glory
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.
Sonnets are full of love, and this… Has many sonnets: so here now shal… One sonnet more, a love sonnet, fr… To her whose heart is my heart’s q… To my first Love, my Mother, on w…
If I might only love my God and d… But now He bids me love Him and l… Now when the bloom of all my life… The pleasant half of life has quit… My tree of hope is lopped that spr…
Chide not; let me breathe a little… For I shall not mourn him long; Though the life—cord was so brittl… The love—cord was very strong. I would wake a little space
Vanity of vanities, the Preacher… All things are vanity. The eye an… Cannot be filled with what they se… Like early dew, or like the sudden… Of wind, or like the grass that wi…
A song in a cornfield Where corn begins to fall, Where reapers are reaping, Reaping one, reaping all. Sing pretty Lettice,
O wind, where have you been, That you blow so sweet? Among the violets Which blossom at your feet. The honeysuckle waits
I wish you were a pleasant wren, And I your small accepted mate; How we’d look down on toilsome men… We’d rise and go to bed at eight Or it may be not quite so late.
The rose with such a bonny blush, What has the rose to blush about? If it’s the sun that makes her flu… What’s in the sun to flush about?
‘Kookoorookoo! kookoorookoo!’ Crows the cock before the morn; ‘Kikirikee! kikirikee!’ Roses in the east are born. ‘Kookoorookoo! kookoorookoo!’
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.
I am pale with sick desire, For my heart is far away From this world’s fitful fire And this world’s waning day; In a dream it overleaps