what dost thou here,
Thou dusky courtier,
Within the pinky palace of the rose?
Here is no bed for thee,
No honeyed spicery,—
But for the golden bee,
And the gay wind, and me,
Its sweetness grows.
Rover, thou dost forget;—
Seek thou the passion-flower
Bloom of one twilight hour....
-
-
Autumn was cold in Plymouth town;
The wind ran round the shore,
Now softly passing up and down,
Now wild and fierce and fleet,
Wavering overhead,
Moaning in the narrow street
As one beside the dead.The leaves of wrinkled gold and brown
Fluttered here and there,
But not quite heedless where;... -
On kingston Bridge the starlight shone
Through hurrying mists in shrouded glow;
The boding night-wind made its moan,
The mighty river crept below.
’T was All Souls’ night, and to and fro
The quick and dead together walked,
The quick and dead together talked,
On Kingston Bridge.Two met who had not met for years;...
-
Memory cannot linger long,
Joy must die the death.
Hope’s like a little silver song
Fading in a breath.
So wags the weary world away
Forever and a day.But love, that sweetest madness,
Leaps and grows in toil and sadness,
Makes unseeing eyes to see,
And heapeth wealth in penury.
So wags the good old world... -
I and my cousin Wildair met
And tossed a pot together;—
Burnt sack it was that Molly brewed,
For it was nipping weather.
’Fore George! To see Dick buss the wench
Set all the inn folk laughing!
They dubbed him pearl of cavaliers
At kissing and at quaffing.“Oddsfish!” says Dick, “the sack is rare,
And rarely... -
the fair Pamela came to town,
To London town, in early summer;
And up and down and round about
The beaux discussed the bright new-comer,
With “Gadzooks, sir,” and “Ma’am, my duty,”
And “Odds my life, but ’t is a Beauty!”To Ranelagh went Mistress Pam,
Sweet Mistress Pam so fair and merry,
With cheeks of cream... -
The fresh, bright bloom of the daffodils
Makes gold in the garden bed,
Gold that is like the sunbeams
Loitering overhead.
Bloom, bloom
In the sun and the wind,—
April hath a fickle mind.The budding twigs of the sweetbrier
Stir as with hope and bliss
Under the sun’s soft glances,
Under the wind’s... -
More shy than the shy violet,
Hiding when the wind doth pass,
Nestled in the nodding grass,
With morning mist all wet,
In open woodland ways
The Quaker Lady strays.
Pale as noonday cloudlets are,
Floating in the blue,
This little wildwood star
Blooms in light and dew.Sun and shadow on her hair,...
-
“dame, how the moments go—
And the bride is not ready!
Call all her tiring maids,
Paul, Jean, and Thedie.
Is this your robe, my dear?
Faith, but she ’s steady!
The bridegroom is blest who gets
Such a brave lady.”“Pardi! That throat is fair—
How he will kiss it!
Here is your kerchief, girl;
... -
Come down, ye graybeard mariners,
Unto the wasting shore!
The morning winds are up,—the gods
Bid me to dream no more.
Come tell me whither I must sail,
What peril there may be,
Before I take my life in hand
And venture out to sea!“We may not tell thee where to sail,
Nor what the dangers are;
Each...