O the chatter, chatter, chatter, Of the things that do not matter. Little wordy things that clatter, Restless feet that pitter patter, All my pretty houses scatter,

Somehow I never liked you, John,… Your smile was pharisaical, your m… Although you prospered well in wor… Ay, were on nodding terms with Cz… I seem to see the counter and the…

All night the small feet of the ra… Within the garden ran, And gentle fingers tapped the pane Until the dawn began. The rill-like voices called and su…

Is there no bond of blood to you,… Who have called her ours, the anci… And here we hope to rest from Lif… Building of souls our patriotic N… Can we not stand amongst the purpl…

I struck you once, I do remember… Hard on the track of passion sorro… And swift repentance, weeping for… I struck you once—and now you’re l… Now you are gone the blow no longe…

Who has room for a friend Who has money to spend, And a goblet of gold For your fingers to hold, At the wave of whose hand

The kine of my father, they are st… The young goat’s at mischief, but… For all through the night did I h… O youth of my loving, and is it we… All through the night sat my mothe…

The ladies of Sevilla go forth to… They loop their lace mantillas, a… Upon the road Delicias* their lit… And tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, the be… Beside the Guadalquivir, by orang…

Build no roof-tree over thee, Raise nor wall nor rafter, Like the swallows in the eaves, Care will follow after. Lend thy ear unto no voice

Young Dermod stood by his mother’… And he spake right stern and cold: “Now, why do you weep and wail,” h… “And joy from my bride withhold? “And why do you keen and cry,” sai…

On the dry brown bough The withered leaves still cling In their last desperate hold And ceaseless murmuring. They push the swinging branch

Bring to me white roses, roses, pi… Sweet stock and gillyflowers, popp… Bee-flowers and mignonette, with b… I would make a coverlet for my nar… Bring me no silken cloth, velvet s…

A beggar sat by the King’s highwa… O, but the road was long! His hair was black and his beard w… Hark to the linnet’s song! He sat him down by the churchyard…

Who is he, dying so hard? Hard is it to die’€” Die in the warmth of June, Bird and bee in tune’€” Die in the singing time,

I saw children playing, dancing in… Till a voice came calling, calling… With sad backward glances she went… Hoping they would miss her and so… Pettishly and pouting, ‘Tis not t…