Baby, with those solemn eyes And that yellow hair You are very, very wise, Baby dear, I’ll swear! Give me, sweet, your chubby hand,

The thought of you has filled the… The dawn with praise, Till all my senses thrill, like ro… The morning’s rays. This love of ours has clad with ne…

Oh! golden is the gorse-bush. Beneath an April sky, The lark is full of singing, The clouds are white and high ; But my love, my love is faithless.

If not from Phaon I must hope for… Ah! let me seek it from the raging… To raging seas unpitied I’ll remo… And either cease to live or cease… Ovid’s Heroic Epistle, XV.

Oh! come to London, young lad, Lots is to be seen! But he said: ‘I cannot come, maid… Till the cuckoos all be dumb, maid… On the hills of green.’

I saw a row of hollyhocks, Demure and stately-tall, They peep’d above a hedge of box, Like maidens in brocaded frocks, Who nodded one and all.

I turn’d to you, the sky was amber… Blue haze and flaming bracken stre… In undulating mystery to the day, Reclining that the evening might b… And hide her softly 'neath his sta…

Where shall we make us a cosy home… Up in a high pine tree? Suppose the squirrel deserts his n… And we could only grow small and r… Under the twigs, laid so daintily,

At the early break of day, When the river mists grow pink. And the moon begins to sink, Down along the southern way ; When the gold mimosa tree

Ah! why have I built my Castle On the shifting golden sand? On the shores of the hungry ocean Instead of the safe highland? I ask myself, and I answer

If at some future day we two shoul… Stand face to face before the star… And pull from Love’s dead form th… That time has wound about from hea… I scarcely know what words would c…

I BE hopin’ you remember, Now the Spring has come again, How we used to gather violets By the Uttle church at Eastnor, For we were so happy then!

This is the Sabbath day, the day… That breathes so gently in this qu… With such insistent peace that for… The silver olives on the mountain’… Forget to whisper, folded in the g…

O Italy of chiming bells, Of pilgrim shrines and holy wells, Of incense mist and secret prayers… Profound and sweet as scented airs Blown from a field of lily flowers…

Oh! that the night were passed, an… Made lovely by the joy of spring, Would flood these sombre clouds wi… Oh! that some hopeful bird would s… And in his tiny feathered throat