_Lusisti est, et edisti, atque bib… Tempus abire, tibi est._ Take away the dancing girls, quenc… Golden cups and garlands sere, all… Lutes and lyres and Lalage; close…

Her eyes are bluebells now, her vo… And the long sighing grass her ele… She who a woman was is now a star In the high heaven shining down on…

Is it your face I see, your voice… Your face, your voice, again after… O is your cheek once more against… And is this blessed rain, angel, y… You have come back,-how strange-ou…

We thought that winter, love, woul… That the dark year had slain the i… Nor hoped that your soft hand, thi… Would lie, as now, in mine, belove… And, like some magic spring, your…

I had no where to go, I had no money to spend: ‘O come with me,’ the Beaver said… ‘I live at the world’s end.’ ‘Does the world ever end!’

(TO EDMUND GOSSE) Still towards the steep Parnassia… The moon-led pilgrims wend, Ah, who of all that start to-day Shall ever reach the end?

When the long day has faded to its… The flowers gone, and all the sing… And there is no companion left sav… Ah! there is one, Though in her grave she lies this…

My head is at your feet, Two Cytherean doves, The same, O cruel sweet, As were the Queen of Love’s; They brush my dreaming brows

Away from the silent hills and the… of upland waters, The high still stars and the lonel… in her quarters, I fly to the city, the streets, th…

When leaf and flower are newly mad… And bird and butterfly and bee Are at their summer posts again; When all is ready, lo! ’tis she, Suddenly there after soft rain–

‘How many queens have ruled and pa… Since first we met; How thick and fast The letters used to come at first, How thin at last;

Water in hidden glens From the secret heart of the mount… Where the red fox hath its dens And the gods their crystal fountai… Up runnel and leaping cataract,

Once we met, and then there came Like a Pentecostal flame, A word; And I said not, Only thought,

Face with the forest eyes, And the wayward wild-wood hair, How shall a man be wise, When a girl’s so fair; How, with her face once seen,

I am so fair that wheresoe’er I w… Men yearn with strange desire to k… Stretch out their hands to touch m… And women follow me from place to… A poet writing honey of his dear