“behold another singer!” Criton said,
And sneered, and in his sneering turned the leaf:
“Who reads the poets now? They are past and dead:
Give me for their vain work unrhymed relief.”
A laugh went round. Meanwhile the last ripe sheaf
Of corn was garnered,...

Sweetest love, I do not go,
For weariness of thee,
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter love for me;
But since that I
Must die at last, 'tis best
To use myself in jest
Thus by feign'd deaths to die.

Yesternight the sun went hence,
And yet is...

“a Weary lot is thine, fair maid,
  A weary lot is thine!
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
  And press the rue for wine!
A lightsome eye, a soldier’s mien,
  A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green—
  No more of me you...

He that is down need fear no fall;
  He that is low, no pride;
He that is humble ever shall
  Have God to be his guide.

I am content with what I have,
  Little be it or much;
And, Lord, contentment still I crave,
  Because thou savest...

Love still has something of the sea,
  From whence his Mother rose;
No time his slaves from love can free,
  Nor give their thoughts repose.

They are becalmed in clearest days,
  And in rough weather tost;
They wither under cold delays,...

From an Old Song, “Woo’d and Married and a’”

THE BRIDE she is winsome and bonny,
  Her hair it is snooded sae sleek,
And faithfu’ and kind is her Johnny,
  Yet fast fa’ the tears on her cheek.
New pearlins 1 are cause of her sorrow,
  New pearlins...

From “Pippa Passes”
THE YEAR ’S at the spring,
And day ’s at the morn;
Morning ’s at seven;
The hill-side ’s dew-pearled;
The lark ’s on the wing;
The snail ’s on the thorn;
God ’s in His heaven—
All ’s right with the world.

Cet Hiver en dormant je songe que ma flore,
Voulant récompenser mes peines et mes pleurs,
Me caresse, me baise, et me promet encore
De me garder le fruit de ces premières fleurs.

Ainsi durant la nuit se lève mon aurore,
Afin de m'assurer que les destins...

À d’autres les ciels bleus ou les ciels tourmentés,
La neige des hivers, le parfum des étés,
Les monts où vous grimpez, fiertés aventurières
Des Anglaises. Mes yeux aiment mieux les clairières
Où la charcuterie a laissé ses papiers,
Les sentiers où l’on...