When birds were songless on the bo… I heard thee sing. The world was full of winter, thou Wert full of spring. To-day the world’s heart feels ane…

That beauty such as thine Can die indeed, Were ordinance too wantonly malign… No wit may reconcile so cold a cre… With beauty such as thine.

What! and shall _we_, with such su… As age demands in reverence from t… Await these crumbs of praise from… And doubt of our own greatness til… The signet of your Goethes or Vol…

’Tis human fortune’s happiest heig… A spirit melodious, lucid, poised,… Second in order of felicity I hold it, to have walk’d with suc… * * * * *

The mighty poets from their flowin… Dispense like casual alms the care… Through throngs of men their lonel… Let fall their costly thoughts, no… Not mine the rich and showering ha…

Reluctant Summer! once, a maid Full easy of access, In many a bee-frequented shade Thou didst thy lover bless. Divinely unreproved I played,

As some most pure and noble face, Seen in the thronged and hurrying… Sheds o’er the world a sudden grac… A flying odour sweet, Then, passing, leaves the cheated…

Low, like another’s, lies the laur… The life that seemed a perfect son… Carry the last great bard to his l… Land that he loved, thy noblest vo… Land that he loved, that loved him…

About this heart thou hast Thy chains made fast, And think’st thou I would be Therefrom set free, And forth unbound be cast?

HE sits above the clang and dust… With the world’s secret trembling… He asks not converse or companions… In the cold starlight where thou c… The undelivered tidings in his bre…

The men who man our batteries, The men who serve our guns, They need not honeyed flatteries, For they are Britain’s sons! They go, when Duty speeds them,

’Twas at this season, year by year… The singer who lies songless here Was wont to woo a less austere, Less deep repose, Where Rotha to Winandermere

Friend, in whose friendship I am… A debt not time may cancel is your… For was it not your praise that ea… On me obscure, that chivalrous reg… Ev’n his, who, knowing fame’s firs…

(WITH A VOLUME OF VERSE) Master and mage, our prince of son… In this your autumn mellow and ser… Crowns ever with fresh laurels, no… Than garlands dewy from your verdu…