O never laugh again! Laughter is dead, Deep hiding in her grave, A sacred thing. O never laugh again,

Our tears, our songs, our laurels—… To thee in thy Gethsemane of loss… Stretched in thine unimagined agon… On Hell’s last engine of the Iron… For such a world as this that thou…

She’s somewhere in the sunlight st…    Her tears are in the falling ra… She calls me in the wind’s soft so…    And with the flowers she comes… Yon bird is but her messenger,

Morn hath a secret that she never… ’Tis on her lips and in her maiden… I think it is the way to Paradise… Or of the Fount of Youth the crys… The bee hath no such honey in her…

Always thy book, too late acknowle… Now when thine eyes no earthly pag… Blinded with death, or blinded wit… Of love’s own lore celestial. Sma… Forsooth, for thee to read my eart…

Friends whom to-night once more I… Most glad am I with you to be, And, as I look around, I meet Many a face right good to see; But one I miss—ah! where is he?—

This is all that is left—this lett… And do you, poor dreaming things,… That your little fire shall burn f… And this great fire be, all but th… Flower! of course she is—but is sh…

Primrose and Violet– May they help thee to forget All that love should not remember, Sweet as meadows after rain When the sun has come again,

‘A Library in a garden! The phrase seems to contain the wh… of man.’-Mr. EDMUND GOSSE in Gossip in a Library A world of books amid a world of g…

Winter, some call thee fair, Yea! flatter thy cold face With vain compare Of all thy glittering ways And magic snows

The lawless love that would not be… The love that waited, and in waiti… The love that met and mated, satis… Ah, love, ’twas good to climb forb… Who would not follow where his Ju…

O ships upon the sea, O shapes of… O lands whose names are made of sp… Old painted empires that are ever… From Cochin-China down to Zanzib… O Beauty simple, soul-less, and b…

(FOR MR, G. F. WATTS’S P… Mammon is this, of murder and of g… To-day, to-morrow, and ever from o… Th’ Almighty God, and King of ev… Man ‘neath his foot, and woman ’ne…

With Pipe and Book at close of da… Oh, what is sweeter, mortal, say? It matters not what book on knee, Old Izaak or the Odyssey, It matters not meerschaum or clay.

Why did she marry him? Ah, say wh… How was her fancy caught? What was the dream that he drew he… Or was she only bought? Gave she her gold for a girlish wh…