By none but me can the tale be tol… The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold… (Lands are swayed by a King on a… 'Twas a royal train put forth to s… Yet the tale can be told by none b…

DEAR Jack Alack! A few days back I bound myself by oath to smack My lips o’er sloshy tea, and attac…

WHAT masque of what old wind—wit… Honours this Lady? Flora, wanton—… For birth, and with all flowrets p… Aurora, Zephyrus, with mutual che… Of clasp and kiss: the Graces cir…

ONE scarce would think that we ca… Who used, in those first childish… With held breath through the under… Outside into the sun. Since this… Took me unto itself, the joy which…

O lovely hand, that thy sweet self… In that thy pure and proper elemen… Whence erst the Lady of Love’s hi… Was born, and endless fires sprang… Even as her Loves to her their of…

From child to youth; from youth to… From lethargy to fever of the hear… From faithful life to dream—dower’… From trust to doubt; from doubt to… Thus much of change in one swift c…

WAVING whispering trees, What do you say to the breeze And what says the breeze to you? ‘Mid passing souls ill at ease, Moving murmuring trees,

IN this new shade of Death, the s… Passes me still of form and face; Some bent, some gazing as they go, Some swiftly, some at a dull pace, Not one that speaks in any case.

(In the Louvre) SCARCELY, I think; yet it inde… The meaning reached him, when this… Clear through his frame, a sweet p… And he beheld these rocks and that…

O RUFF—EMBASTIONED vast El… Bush to these bushel—bellied casks… Home—growth, 'tis true, but rank a… What would we with such skittle—pl… Say, must we watch these brawlers’…

BETWEEN Holmscote and Hurstcot… The river—reaches wind, The whispering trees accept the br… The ripple’s cool and kind; With love low—whispered 'twixt the…

This is that blessed Mary, pre—el… God’s Virgin. Gone is a great whi… Dwelt young in Nazareth of Galile… Unto God’s will she brought devou… Profound simplicity of intellect,

ENTER Skald, moored in a punt, And jacks and tenches exeunt.

LAY your head here, Mary, Lay your head here, While the blown grass, Mary, With timid voice and wary, Sings in your ear:—