MUST all the passion which I’ve… So long to hide be paid with scorn… And must a bosom framed for love, Be doomed a hopeless love to mourn… And must thou still its homage spu…

YOU quite mistake the sprite you… I’m of the under, not the upper, Order of the fairy race; And cannot go with you to supper. ‘You silly elf, Titania’s self

THE memories of moments flown, Into my spirit’s glass assemble; And as they enter, one by one, My heart-strings into music trembl… Even as the harp, the breezelet sw…

‘I HATE outlandish things, and o… I’ve little liking for the sonnet; ’Tis for a lazy Muse, and one Who hath a bumler in her bonnet. ‘Tis a humdrum song, and tho’ not…

THO’ many a moon had roll’d away Since Essex at the block had died… The Queen upon her night-couch la… And o’er his end horrific sighed. “Oh Essex, oh! my joy and woe

THE hopes that allured me To cope with the worst, At length have secured me The tortures accurst, Of fever and grief,

BEWILDERED by Life’s Gordian… Despair had flung her adamantine c… When thro’ the abyss of my spirit… A deep voice cried, and “Glory!”… “A spark eternal from the co-etern…

A SYREN, with her mirror bright… His ear enchants; and while he lis… His image on his dazzled sight, A very jewel gleams and glistens. Ah, could he peer into yon brook,

MY loved one appears In a vision by night, The loveliest jewel Ever gladdened the sight; With her pensive blue eyes,

FLY not away, wee birdie, pray! No weasels we, no evil-bringers, Would make thee bear the pangs tha… Too oft the hearts of sweetest sin… Long may thy nest with eggs be ble…

My lad he is a Collier Lad, And a blithe, blithe soul is he, And when a holiday comes around, He’ll spend that day in glee; He’ll tell his tale o’er a pint o’…

BACK flies my soul to other year… When thou that charming lay repeat… When smiles were only chased by te… Yet sweeter far than smiles the sw… Thy music ends, and where are they…

‘NOT now shall I sing of my spor… But the golden hours and gay,’ Sang the Breeze, ‘when I, a wild… With the Summer flowers to play. ’When I tiptoe go to the pansy, t…

A LITTLE brooklet trilled a son… As merry as the day was long, At which a music-hater stung To frenzy said: 'I’ll bind thy to… And quell thy merriment:' That…

TRUTH’S words are oft so very t… And always when my lips he uses, His foes, which let us hope, are f… Declare he but the truth abuses. Thus when he spake of Ella’s tong…