The lake lay blue below the hill. O’er it, as I looked, there flew Across the waters, cold and still, A bird whose wings were palest blu… The sky above was blue at last,

Through the sunny garden The humming bees are still; The fir climbs the heather, The heather climbs the hill. The low clouds have riven

A green eye-and a red-in the dark. Thunder-smoke-and a spark. It is there-it is here-flashed by. Whither will the wild thing fly? It is rushing, tearing thro’ the n…

The clouds had made a crimson crow… Above the mountains high. The stormy sun was going down In a stormy sky. Why did you let your eyes so rest…

O LET me be in loving nice, Dainty, fine, and o’er precise, That I may charm my charmàd dear As tho’ I felt a secret fear To lose what never can be lost,—

Strange Power, I know not what th… Murderer or mistress of my heart. I know I’d rather meet the blow Of my most unrelenting foe Than live—as now I live—to be

Sunshine let it be or frost, Storm or calm, as Thou shalt choo… Though Thine every gift were lost… Thee Thyself we could not lose.

TURN in, my lord, she said ; As it were the Father of Sin I have hated the Father of the De… The slayer of my kin ; By the Father of the Living led,

None ever was in love with me but… She wooed my from the day that I… She stole my playthings first, the… And left me there forlorn. The birds that in my garden would…

Many a flower have I seen blossom… Many a bird for me will sing. Never heard I so sweet a singer, Never saw I so fair a thing. She is a bird, a bird that blossom…

GOOD FRIDAY in my heart! Fear… My thoughts are the Disciples whe… My words the words that priest and… My deed the spear to desecrate the… And day, Thy death therein, is ch…

Grant me but a day, love, But a day, Ere I give my heart, My heart away, Ere I say the word

As Christ the Lord was passing by… He came, one night, to a cottage d… He came, a poor man, to the poor; He had no bed whereon to lie. He asked in vain for a crust of br…

On alien ground, breathing an alie… A Roman stood, far from his ancie… And gazing, murmured, ‘Ah, the hills are fair,
But not… Descendant of a race to Romans-ki…

Country roads are yellow and brown… We mend the roads in London town. Never a hansom dare come nigh, Never a cart goes rolling by. An unwonted silence steals