’t Is an old dial, dark with many a stain;
In summer crowned with drifting orchard bloom,
Tricked in the autumn with the yellow rain,
And white in winter like a marble tomb.
And round about its gray, time-eaten brow
Lean letters speak,—a worn and...
In Memoriam
Nec turpem senectam
Degere, nec cithara carentem.
“NOT to be tuneless in old age!”
Ah! surely blest his pilgrimage,
Who, in his winter’s snow,
Still sings with note as sweet and clear
As in the morning of the year...
That Belonged to the Marquise de Pompadour
(Ballade)
CHICKEN-SKIN, delicate, white,
Painted by Carlo Vanloo,
Loves in a riot of light,
Roses and vaporous blue;
Hark to the dainty frou-frou!
Picture above, if you can,
Eyes...
When the ways are heavy with mire and rut,
In November fogs, in December snows,
When the North Wind howls, and the doors are shut,—
There is place and enough for the pains of prose;
But whenever a scent from the whitethorn blows,
And the jasmine-...
“On a l’âge de son cœur.”
—A. d’HOUDETOT.
A LITTLE more toward the light.
Me miserum. Here ’s one that ’s white,
And one that ’s turning;
Adieu to song and “salad days.”
My Muse, let ’s go at once to Jay’s
And order...
“De mémoires de Roses on n’a point vu mourir le Jardinier.”
THE ROSE in the garden slipped her bud,
And she laughed in the pride of her youthful blood,
As she thought of the Gardener standing by—
“He is old—so old! And he soon must die!”
The full Rose...
“Martiis cælebs quid agam Kalendis,
——— miraris?”
—Horace iii. 8.
CHARLES,—for it seems you wish to know,—
You wonder what could scare me so,
And why, in this long-locked bureau,
With trembling fingers,—
With tragic air, I now...
