O skylark! I see thee and call th… Thy wings bear thee up to the brea… I see thee no more, but thy song i… The tongue of the heavens to me! Thus are the days when I was a bo…

The buried voice bespake Antigone… ‘O sister! couldst thou know, as t… The bliss above, the reverence bel… Enkindled by thy sacrifice for me; Thou wouldst at once with holy ecs…

O nightingale! how hast thou learn… The note of the nested dove? While under thy bower the fern han… And no cloud hovers above! Rich July has many a sky

Thou, run to the dry on this waysi… Too plainly of all the propellers… Quenched youth, and is that thy pu… Even such limp slough as the snake… Slack to the gale upon spikes of w…

A blackbird in a wicker cage, That hung and swung 'mid fruits an… Had learnt the song-charm, to assu… The drearness of its wingless hour… And ever when the song was heard,

We saw the swallows gathering in t… And in the osier-isle we heard the… We had not to look back on summer… Or forward to a summer of bright d… But in the largeness of the evenin…

Ladies who in chains of wedlock Chafe at an unequal yoke, Not to nightingales give hearing; Better this, the raven’s croak. Down the Prado strolled my seigne…

What say you, critic, now you have… An author and maternal?—in this tr… (To quote you) of poor hollow folk… On instruments as like as drum to… You snarled tut-tut for welcome to…

In Progress you have little faith… Men will maintain dear interests,… By force, and gentle women choose… Most amorously from the gilded fig… The human heart Bellona’s mad hal…

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,

Not vainly doth the earnest voice… Call for the thing that is his pur… Fame is the birthright of the livi… To noble impulse Nature puts no b… Nor vainly to the Sphinx thy voic…

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…

When nuts behind the hazel-leaf Are brown as the squirrel that hun… And the fields are rich with the s… ‘Mid the blue cornflower and the y… And the farmer glows and beams in…

Their sense is with their senses a… Destroyed by subtleties these wome… More brain, O Lord, more brain! o… Utterly this fair garden we might… Behold! I looked for peace, and t…