Lately our poets loiter’d in green… Content to catch the ballads of th… I fancied I had strength enough t… A loftier station at no distant ti… And might securely from intrusion…

Twenty years hence my eyes may gro… If not quite dim, yet rather so, Still yours from others they shall… Twenty years hence. Twenty years hence though it may h…

Mother, I cannot mind my wheel; My fingers ache, my lips are dry: Oh! if you felt the pain I feel! But oh, who ever felt as I? No longer could I doubt him true;

LO! where the four mimosas blend… In calm repose at last is Landor… For ere he slept he saw them plant… By her his soul had ever held most… And he had liv’d enough when he ha…

I entreat you, Alfred Tennyson, Come and share my haunch of veniso… I have too a bin of claret, Good, but better when you share it… Tho’ 'tis only a small bin,

WHO will away to Athens with me?… Loves choral songs and maidens cro… Unenvious? mount the pinnace; hois… I promise ye, as many as are here, Ye shall not, while ye tarry with…

Catch her and hold her if you can— See, she defies you with her fan, Shuts, opens, and then holds it sp… In threatening guise over your hea… Ah! why did you not start before

Life (priest and poet say) is but… I wish no happier one than to be l… Beneath a cool syringa’s scented s… Or wavy willow, by the running str… Brimful of moral, where the dragon…

TO turn my volumes o’er nor find (Sweet unsuspicious friend!) Some vestige of an erring mind To chide or discommend, Believe that all were lov’d like y…

Rejoice, ye nations! one is dead By whom ten thousand hearts have b… Widows and orphans, raise your voi… One voice, ye prostrate peoples, r… To God; to God alone be praise!

Tell me not what too well I know About the bard of Sirmio. Yes, in Thalia’s son Such stains there are—as when a G… Sprinkles another’s laughing face

TO write as your sweet mother doe… Is all you wish to do. Play, sing, and smile for others,… Let others write for you. Or mount again your Dartmoor grey…

Why is, and whence, the Po in fla… In consternation do its borderers… Imploring hands to mortal men arou… And Gods above? Are Gods implaca… Or men bereft of sight at such a b…

From you, Ianthe, little troubles… Like little ripples down a sunny r… Your pleasures spring like daisies… Cut down, and up again as blithe a…

‘Do you remember me? or are you pr… Lightly advancing thro’ her star—t… Ianthe said, and look’d into my ey… ‘A yes, a yes to both: for Memory Where you but once have been must…