Fixed is my Faith, the lingering… That still we move through Libert… The Human Tragedy. When God out of chaos primeval di… And moved on the face of the water…

Blithe friend! blithe throstle! I… Whom I at last again hear sing, Perched on thy old accustomed boug… Poet-prophet of the Spring? Yes! Singing as thou oft hast sun…

Because I failed, shall I asperse… With scorn or doubt, my failure to… ‘Gainst arduous Truth my feeble f… Like that worst foe, a vain splene… Deem’st thou, self-amorous fool, t…

Now let no passing-bell be tolled, Wail now no dirge of gloom; Nor around purple pall unfold The trappings of the tomb! Dead? No, the Artist doth not die…

Nay, do not quarrel with the seaso… Nor make an enemy of friendly Tim… The fruit and foliage of the faili… Rival the buds and blossoms of its… Is not the harvest moon as round a…

I found, and plucked, an autumn-bl… And shut my eyes, and scented all… When lo! as in the month the black… Lambs 'gan to bleat, and merle and… Flower of my life! inestimably dea…

Is life worth living? Yes, so lon… As Spring revives the year, And hails us with the cuckoo’s son… To show that she is here; So long as May of April takes,

Farewell! I breathe that wonted p… But oh! though countless leagues d… Our gaze, our grasp, they shall no… My soul, my spirit, from thy side. Waking or sleeping, thou shalt own

Nay, bring forth none but daughter… The doubles of yourself; with face… Bearing as candid, gait as debonai… And voice as deeply, musically str… That the less fortunate age, from…

Let the weary world go round! What care I? Life’s a surfeiting of sound: I would die. It would be so sweet to lie

The lark confinèd in his cage, And captive in his wing, Though fluttering with imprisoned… Forbeareth not to sing. But still the strain, though loud…

Nay, be not June, nor yet Decembe… But April always, as I find thee… A constant freshness unto me be th… And not the ripeness that must soo… Why should I be Time’s dupe, and…

SHE wanders in the April woods, That glisten with the fallen showe… She leans her face against the bud… She stops, she stoops, she plucks… She feels the ferment of the hour:

Here let us sit beneath this oak,… The acorns fitfully fall one by on… The final harvest of the fading ye… Now Summer eves and Autumn days a… The orchard rows stand desolate an…

Hark! Spring is coming. Her heral… Cuckoo! The air resounds and the woodland… Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Leave the milking pail and the man…