Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of...

Unter der linden An der heide, Wo unser beider lager was, Da könnet ihr finden Zärtlich beide Gebrochen, blumen und das gras: Vor dem wald in einem tal, Tandaradei, Lieblich sang die nachtigall. Ich kam gegangen Zu der aue, Mein liebster war gekommen eh’r, Da ward ich empfangen, Hehre Fraue,...

Her hands are cold; her face is white;
  No more her pulses come and go;
Her eyes are shut to life and light;—
  Fold the white vesture, snow on snow,
  And lay her where the violets blow.

But not beneath a graven stone,
  To plead for tears with...

Under the violets, blue and sweet,
  Where low the willow droops and weeps,
Where children tread with timid feet,
  When twilight o’er the forest creeps,
  She sleeps,—my little darling sleeps.

Breathe low and soft, O wind! breathe low
  Where so...

Poet: Edward Young

It was Christmas Eve in the year fourteen,
And, as ancient dalesmen used to tell,
The wildest winter they ever had seen,
With the snow lying deep on moor and fell,

When Wagoner John got out his team,
Smiler and Whitefoot, Duke and Gray,
With the...

The skies are low, the winds are slow,
  The woods are filled with autumn glory;
The mists are still on field and hill,
  The brooklet sings its dreamy story.

I careless rove through glen and grove;
  I dream by hill and copse and river;
Or in...

She came and went as comes and goes
  A fragrance in the morning air,
Where lay the shadowy shapes of those
      Who died in her sweet care.

Some doubted, when her face had flown,
  Whether it was or only seemed,—
Whether one saw what he had...

Tell me what sail the seas
Under the stars?
Ships, and ships’ companies,
  Off to the wars.

Steel are the ship’s great sides,
  Steel are her guns,
Backward she thrusts the tides,
  Swiftly she runs;

Steel is the sailor’s heart...

Poet: Wallace Rice

Under my window, under my window,
  All in the Midsummer weather,
Three little girls with fluttering curls
  Flit to and fro together:—
There ’s Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen,
And Maud with her mantle of silver-green,
  And Kate with her...

The Work of the sun is slow,
But as sure as heaven, we know;
    So we ’ll not forget,
    When the skies are wet,
There ’s green grass under the snow.

When the winds of winter blow,
Wailing like voices of woe,
    There are April showers...