The coach is at the door at last; The eager children, mounting fast And kissing hands, in chorus sing: Good—bye, good—bye, to everything! To house and garden, field and law…

MEN are Heaven’s piers; they eve… Unwearying bear the skyey floor; Man’s theatre they bear with ease, Unfrowning cariatides! I, for my wife, the sun uphold,

Where the bells peal far at sea Cunning fingers fashioned me. There on palace walls I hung While that Consuelo sung; But I heard, though I listened we…

To the heart of youth the world is… Passing for ever, he fares; and on… Deep in the gardens golden pavilio… Nestle in orchard bloom, and far o… Call him with lighted lamp in the…

FOR these are sacred fishes all Who know that lord that is the lor… Come to the brim and nose the frie… That sways and can beshadow all th… Nor only so, but have their names,…

WHEN Thomas set this tablet here… Time laughed at the vain chanticle… And ere the moss had dimmed the st… Time had defaced that garrison. Now I in turn keep watch and ward

Even in the bluest noonday of Jul… There could not run the smallest b… But all the quarter sounded like a… And in the chequered silence and a… The hum of city cabs that sought t…

The human conscience has fled of l… domain of conduct for what I shoul… less congenial field of art: there… rage, and with special severity in… so that in every novel the letters…

We travelled in the print of olden… Yet all the land was green, And love we found, and peace, Where fire and war had been. They pass and smile, the children…

My body which my dungeon is, And yet my parks and palaces: — Which is so great that there I go All the day long to and fro, And when the night begins to fall

I KNOW not how, but as I count The beads of former years, Old laughter catches in my throat With the very feel of tears.

Grown about by fragrant bushes, Sunken in a winding valley, Where the clear winds blow And the shadows come and go, And the cattle stand and low

YOU looked so tempting in the pew… You looked so sly and calm — My trembling fingers played with y… As both looked out the Psalm. Your heart beat hard against my ar…

From the bonny bells of heather They brewed a drink long—syne, Was sweeter far than honey, Was stronger far than wine. They brewed it and they drank it,

OVER the land is April, Over my heart a rose; Over the high, brown mountain The sound of singing goes. Say, love, do you hear me,