Love, wilt thou love me still when… Steals on the tresses of autumnal… When the pale rose hath perished i… And those are wrinkles that are di… Wilt thou, when this fond arm that…

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…

How can I tell thee when I love t… In rapture or repose? how shall I… I only know I love thee every way… Plumed for love’s flight, or folde… See, what is day but night bedewed…

With shimmer of steel and blare of… And Switzers marching with martia… And cavaliers trampling brown the… Came bow-legged Charles through t… With black Il Moro for traitor gu…

Why did you come when the trees we… Why did you come with the wintry a… When the faint note dies in the ro… And the gables drip and the white… What a strange, strange season to…

‘What ails you, Sister Erin, that… Is, like your mountains, still bed… As though some ancient sorrow or d… Some unforgettable wrong from far-… Done to your name or wreaked upon…

I chide not at the seasons, for if… With backward look refuses to be f… My Love still more than April mak… And shows May blossom in the blea… Should Summer fail its tryst, or…

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

Incomparable Italy, farewell! Tears not unmanly trespass to the… From thy soft touch and glance uns… Compelled to turn and suffer other… E’en as I leave thee, the materna…

WHITE little hands! Pink little feet! Dimpled all over, Sweet, sweet, sweet! What dost thou wail for?

City acclaimed from far-off days Fair, and baptized in field of flo… Once more I scan, with eager gaze… Your soaring domes, your storied t… Nigh on eight lustres now have flo…

Could I but leave men wiser by my… And somewhat happier in their litt… Wean them from things that lure bu… Make the harsh gentle, and the fee… Shunning the paths where pride and…

There! once again I stand on home… Though round me still there swirls… Leaping athwart the vessel’s track To bid a wanderer welcome back, And though as yet through softenin…

All hail to the Czar! By the frin… That thunders, untamed, around Al… See multitudes throng, dense as se… Is betwixt the deaf rocks and the… And across the ridged waters stand…

Sweet Love is dead: Where shall we bury him? In a green bed, With no stone at his head, And no tears nor prayers to worry…