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…
The sweetest blossoms die. And so it was that, going day by d… Unto the church to praise and pray… And crossing the green churchyard… I saw how on the graves the flower…
I bore with thee long weary days a… Through many pangs of heart, throu… I bore with thee, thy hardness, co… For three and thirty years. Who else had dared for thee what…
Hope new born one pleasant morn Died at even; Hope dead lives nevermore. No, not in heaven. If his shroud were but a cloud
Love me —I love you, Love me, my baby; Sing it high, sing it low, Sing it as may be. Mother’s arms under you,
The year stood at its equinox And bluff the North was blowing, A bleat of lambs came from the flo… Green hardy things were growing; I met a maid with shining locks
A city plum is not a plum; A dumb—bell is no bell, though dum… A party rat is not a rat; A sailor’s cat is not a cat; A soldier’s frog is not a frog;
Our little baby fell asleep, And may not wake again For days and days, and weeks and w… But then he’ll wake again, And come with his own pretty look,
Minnie bakes oaten cakes, Minnie brews ale, All because her Johnny’s coming Home from sea. And she glows like a rose
Jesus, do I love Thee? Thou art far above me, Seated out of sight Hid in Heavenly Light Of most highest height.
But give me holly, bold and jolly, Honest, prickly, shining holly; Pluck me holly leaf and berry For the day when I make merry
Rosy maiden Winifred, With a milkpail on her head, Tripping through the corn, While the dew lies on the wheat In the sunny morn.
The irresponsive silence of the la… The irresponsive sounding of the s… Speak both one message of one sens… Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so s… Thou too aloof bound with the flaw…
Your hands lie open in the long fr… The finger—points look through lik… Your eyes smile peace. The pastur… ‘Neath billowing skies that scatte… All round our nest, far as the eye…
O happy rosebud blooming Upon thy parent tree, Nay, thou art too presuming For soon the earth entombing Thy faded charms shall be,