She trembles when I touch The tips of scarce-grown fingers, Yet seems to think it overmuch If for a moment lingers Grasp that I hardly meant for suc…

What is it haunts the summer air? A sense of something lately passed… Something pleasant, something fair… That was with us yesterday, And is no longer there.

‘Shepherd swains that feed your fl… ’Mong the grassy-rooted rocks, While I still see sun and moon, Grant to me this simple boon: As I sit on craggy seat,

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…

Beside the Convent Gate I stood, Lingering to take farewell of thos… To whom I owed the simple good Of three days’ peace, three nights… My sumpter-mule did blink and blin…

The lights of Mesolongi gleam Before me, now the day is gone; And vague as leaf on drifting stre… My keel glides on. No mellow moon, no stars arise;

Here have I learnt the little tha… Here where in these untutored wood… The primrose, all unconscious of o… Dimpled the dainty coverlet of the… March’s first-born, and, still ave…

Though all the world should stand… And leave you to your sorrow, And you from none, or near, or wid… A smile or tear could borrow; I still would stand with arms outs…

Behind the curtain, With glance uncertain, Peeps pet Florence as I gaily rid… Half demurely, But, though purely,

Since we the march of Time can no… Keep you in step with him till Ti… Thus will you journey with more ea… Nor mar the rhythm that you cannot… Nor ever yearn impatiently to reap

Here’s to him that grows it, Drink, lads, drink! That lays it in and mows it, Clink, jugs, clink! To him that mows and makes it,

World! to arms! Do you shrink? What! shrink when the hoofs of the… The bosom of mother, the tonsure o… And the youth of a nation, pain-ma…

Beneath this marble, mute of prais… Is hushed the heart of One Who, whilst it beat, had eagle’s g… To stare upon the sun. Equal in flight

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…

Give me a roof where Wisdom dwell… Where honeysuckle smiles and smell… A bleating flock, some lowing kine… An honest welcome always mine, A homely draught, a humble meal,