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,
If a pig wore a wig, What could we say? Treat him as a gentleman, And say ‘Good day.’ If his tail chanced to fail,
Where sunless rivers weep Their waves into the deep, She sleeps a charmed sleep: Awake her not. Led by a single star,
Oh, pleasant eventide! Clouds on the western side Grow grey and greyer, hiding the w… The bees and birds, their happy la… Seek their close nests and bide.
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
“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
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…
Three sang of love together: one w… Crimson, with cheeks and bosom in… Flushed to the yellow hair and fin… And one there sang who soft and sm… Bloomed like a tinted hyacinth at…
A hundred, a thousand to one; even… Not a hope in the world remained: The swarming howling wretches belo… Gained and gained and gained. Skene looked at his pale young wif…
On the grassy banks Lambkins at their pranks; Woolly sisters, woolly brothers Jumping off their feet While their woolly mothers
Brownie, Brownie, let down your m… White as swansdown and smooth as s… Fresh as dew and pure as snow: For I know where the cowslips blo… And you shall have a cowslip wreat…
They made the chamber sweet with f… And the bed sweet with flowers on… While my soul, love—bound, loitere… I did not hear the birds about the… Nor hear the reapers talk among th…
Consider The lilies of the field whose bloo… We are as they; Like them we fade away, As doth a leaf.
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!
Unmindful of the roses, Unmindful of the thorn, A reaper tired reposes Among his gathered corn: So might I, till the morn!