My student-lamp is lighted, The books and papers are spread; A sound comes floating upwards, Chasing the thoughts from my head. I open the garret window,

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…

What ails my senses thus to cheat? What is it ails the place, That all the people in the street Should wear one woman’s face? The London trees are dusty-brown

At Loschwitz above the city The air is sunny and chill; The birch-trees and the pine-trees Grow thick upon the hill. Lone and tall, with silver stem,

I will be glad because it is the… I will forget the winter in my hea… Dead hopes and withered promise; a… A little joy from life ere life de… For spendthrift youth with passion…

(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, even, I cannot think it true… My friend, that there is no more y… Almost as soon were no more I, Which were, of course, absurdity! Your place is bare, you are not se…

"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,

Ere all the world had grown so dre… When I was young and you were her… ‘Mid summer roses in summer weathe… What pleasant times we’ve had toge… We were not Phyllis, simple-sweet…

The lion remembers the forest, The lion in chains; To the bird that is captive a visi… Of woodland remains. One strains with his strength at t…

(From Lenau.) If within my heart there’s mould, If the flame of Poesy And the flame of Love grow cold, Slay my body utterly.

(AN ECHO FROM A LARGE… That was love that I had before Years ago, when my heart was young… Ev’ry smile was a gem you wore; Ev’ry word was a sweet song sung.

A True Incident of Pre-Revolu… Now the lovely autumn morning brea… In the crowned castle courtyard th… And the ladies on the terrace smil… To the huntsmen disappearing down…

On Bellosguardo, when the year wa… We wandered, seeking for the daffo… And dark anemone, whose purples fi… The peasant’s plot, between the co… Over the grey, low wall the olive…