Pale, climbing disk, who dost lone vigil keep
When all the flower-heads droop in drowsy swoon;
When lily bells fold to the zephyr’s tune,
And wearied bees are lapped in sugared sleep;
What secret hope is thine? What purpose deep?
Art thou enamored of the...
Craven Langstroth Betts
-
-
Gaunt, rueful knight, on raw-boned, shambling hack,
Thy battered morion, shield and rusty spear,
Jog ever down the road in strange career,
Both tears and laughter following on thy track,
Stout Sancho hard behind, whose leathern back
Is curved in clownish... -
Some space beyond the garden close
I sauntered down the shadowed lawn;
It was the hour when sluggards doze,
The cheerful, zephyr-breathing dawn.
The sun had not yet bathed his face,
Dark reddened from the night’s carouse,
When, lo! in festive...