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…

There-peace once more; the restles… Of troubled cities dies away. ‘Welcome to our broad shade once m… The dear old woodlands seem to say… The sweet suggestions of the wind,

’Tis because, though in dusky bowe… With love delighted still thou art… Nor hath the deepening twilight po… To lay a curfew on thy heart. Thou lovest; and, loving, dost pro…

Side by side with Lady Mabel Sate I, with the sunshade down; In the distance hummed the Babel Of the many-footed town; There we sate with looks unstable–

Why, throstle, do you sing In this November haze? Singing for what? for whom? Deem you that it is Spring, Or that your lonely lays

Had you but shown me living what y… Now I am gone, to keep my grave-p… And I but known what vainly now I… Lying here alone, how happy had I… If you with smiles had gladdened o…

Yes! let His place be there! Where the lone moorland gazes on t… Not in the squalid street nor pomp… So that he again may be From contamination free,

One day as on an ass I rode, By many a twisting gully, To where once stood the famed abod… Of philosophic Tully, A shepherd lad with hat aslouch

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 on the summit of Love’s topmo… Kiss we and part; no farther can w… And better death than we from high… Should dwindle or decline from str… We have found all, there is no mor…

Sweet lark! that, bedded in the ta… Protractest dewy slumbers, wake, a… The brightest moments of the morni… Thou shouldst be up, and carolling… Go up! go up! and melt into the bl…

Why love life more, the less of it… And what is left be little but the… And Time’s subsiding passions hav… One’s taste for pleasure, and one’… Is it not better, like the waning…

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…

Now round red roofs stand russet s… Homeward from gleaning in the stub… High overhead the harsh rook saile… And cupless acorns crackle 'neath… No breeze, no breath, veereth the…

Though we must die, I would not d… When fields are brown and bleak, When wild-geese stream across the… And the cart-lodge timbers creak. For it would be so lone and drear