When my mother is n’t here, And I just won’t go to bed, And it’s cold outside and near Christmas; and the kitchen-shed ‘S covered thick with frost and sn…

Who is she, like the spring, who c… From the hills to the smoke-huddle… With her peach-petal face And her wildflower grace, Bringing sunshine and gladness to…

Frail, shrunken face, so pinched a… That life has carved with care and… So weary waiting, night and morn, For that which never came about! Pale lamp, so utterly forlorn,

They mock the present and they hau… And in the future there is naught… With hope, the soul desires, that… The heart pursuing does not find a…

The sunset-crimson poppies are dep… Mariana! The dusky-centred, sultry-smelling… The drowsy-hearted, That burnt like flames along the g…

The joys that touched thee once, b… The sympathies of sky and sea, The friendships of each rock and p… That made thy lonely life, ah me! In Tempe or in Gargaphie.

Squat-nosed and broad, of big and… A tavern visage, apoplexy haunts, All pimple-puffed: the Falstaff-l… Of fat debauchery, whose veined ch… A flabby purple: rusty-spurred he…

Love one day, in childish anger, Tired of his divinity, Sick of rapture, sick of languor, Threw his arrows in the sea. Since then Ocean, like a woman,

When Lydia smiles, I seem to see The walls around me fade and flee; And, lo, in haunts of hart and hin… I seem with lovely Rosalind, In Arden 'neath the greenwood tre…

The deep seclusion of this forest… O’er which the green boughs weave… Along which bluet and anemone Spread dim a carpet; where the Tw… Her cool abode; and, sweet as afte…

Tattered, in ragged raiment of the… The Night arrives. Outside the wi… He stands and, streaming, taps upo… Or, crouching down beside the cell… Letting his hat-brim drain,

ONE blossoming rose-tree, like a… Nursed in a broken mind, that wait… Survives, though shattered, and ab… The strangling dodder streams. Gaunt weeds: and here a bayonet or…

THE moon, a circle of gold, O’er the crowded housetops rolled, And peeped in an attic, where, ‘Mid sordid things and bare, A sick child lay and gazed

Some reckon time by stars, And some by hours: Some measure days by dreams, And some by flowers: My heart alone records

There it lies broken, as a shard, What breathed sweet music yesterda… The source, all mute, has passed a… With its masked meanings still unm… But melody will never cease!