What does youth know of love? Little enough, I trow! He plucks the myrtle for his brow, For his forehead the rose. Nay, but of love

Two terrors fright my soul by nigh… The first is Life, and with her c… A weary, winding train of maidens… With forward-fronting eyes, too sa… Upon whose kindred faces, blank an…

Between the showers I went my way… The glistening street was bright w… It seemed that March had turned t… Between the showers. Above the shining roofs and towers

They trod the streets and squares… With weary hearts, a little while… When, thin and grey, the melanchol… Clung to the leafless branches ove… Or when the smoke-veiled sky grew…

Not in the street and not in the s… The street and square where you we… With shuttered casement your house… Men hush their voice when they spe… I, too, can play at the vain prete…

How like her! But ’tis she hersel… Comes up the crowded street, How little did I think, the morn, My only love to meet! Whose else that motion and that mi…

O is it Love or is it Fame, This thing for which I sigh? Or has it then no earthly name For men to call it by? I know not what can ease my pains,

In the night I dreamed of you; All the place was filled With your presence; in my heart The strife was stilled. All night I have dreamed of you;

I may not weep, not weep, and he i… A weary, weary weight of tears uns… Through the long day in my sad hea… The horrid sun with all unpitying… Shines down into the dreary weavin…

(From Lenau.) So late, and yet a nightingale? Long since have dropp’d the blosso… The summer fields are ripening, And yet a sound of spring?

Now is the perfect moment of the y… Half naked branches, half a mist o… Vivid and delicate the slopes appe… The cool, soft air is neither fier… And in the temperate sun we feel n…

"Am Kreuzweg wird begraben Wer selber brachte sich um." When first the world grew dark to… I call’d on God, yet came not he. Whereon, as wearier wax’d my lot,

More blest than was of old Diogen… I have not held my lantern up in v… Not mine, at least, this evil—to c… “There is none honest among all of… Our hopes go down that sailed befo…

A haunted town thou art to me.<… —Andrew Lang To-day in Florence all the air Is soft with spring, with sunlight… In the tall street gay folks are m…

Since that I may not have Love on this side the grave, Let me imagine Love. Since not mine is the bliss Of ‘claspt hands and lips that kis…