There were three maidens met on th… The sun was down, the night was la… And two sang loud with the birds o… O the nightingale is merry with it… Said they to the youngest, Why wa…

In our old shipwrecked days there… When in the firelight steadily agl… Joined slackly, we beheld the red… Among the clicking coals. Our lib… That eve was left to us: and hushe…

I know him, February’s thrush, And loud at eve he valentines On sprays that paw the naked bush Where soon will sprout the thorns… Now ere the foreign singer thrills

The day that is the night of days, With cannon-fire for sun ablaze We spy from any billow’s lift; And England still this tidal drif… Would she to sainted forethought v…

A message from her set his brain a… A world of household matters fille… Wherein he saw hypocrisy designed: She treated him as something that… And but at other provocation bites…

THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Grey with all honours of age! but… As dawn when the drowsy farm-yard… Tender to tearfulness-childlike, a… Here beats true English blood ric…

Pitch here the tent, while the old… By the old hedge—side we’ll halt a… It’s nigh my last above the daisie… My next leaf’ll be man’s blank pag… Yes, my old girl! and it’s no use…

At the coming up of Phoebus the a… Double-visaged stand the mountains… And with shadows dappled men sing… For they shudder chill, the earth-… black;

With love exceeding a simple love… That glide in grasses and rubble o… Or change their perch on a beat of… From branch to branch, only restfu… Or, bristled, curl at a touch thei…

Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in hi… Has earth beneath his wings: from… He views the rosy dawn. In vain t… The fatal web below while far he f… But when the arrow strikes him, th…

[Written for the Charing Cross A… Seen, too clear and historic withi… Frown when the Autumn days strike… They of our mortal diseases find n… Errors they of the soul, past the…

[Iliad, B. XIV. V. 394] Not the sea-wave so bellows abroad… Whipped from the sea’s deeps up by… Nay, nor is ever the roar of the f… Down along mountain-glades, when i…

When I would image her features, Comes up a shrouded head: I touch the outlines, shrinking; She seems of the wandering dead. But when love asks for nothing,

Once I was part of the music I he… On the boughs or sweet between ear… For joy of the beating of wings on… My heart shot into the breast of t… I hear it now and I see it fly,

When I remember, friend, whom los… Because a man beloved is taken hen… The tender humour and the fire of… In your good eyes; how full of hea… And chiefly for the weaker by the…