Believe me, this was true last nig… Tho’ it is false to-day. —A.M.F. Robinson. A fair dream to my chamber flew: Such a crowd of folk that stirred,

After a Richter Concert. In the long, sad time, when the sk… And the keen blast blew through th… When delight had fled from the nig… My chill heart whispered, ‘ June…

Where drowsy sound of college-chim… Across the air is blown, And drowsy fragrance of the limes, I lie and dream alone. A dazzling radiance reigns o’er al…

In through the porch and up the si… Little is changed, I know so well… Here, the dead came to meet me; it… The dream was dreamed in unforgott… But who is this that hurries on be…

Out of town the sky was bright and… Never fog-cloud, lowering, thick,… Nature dons a garb of gayer hue, Out of town. Spotless lay the snow on field and…

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…

Green is the plane-tree in the squ… The other trees are brown; They droop and pine for country ai… The plane-tree loves the town. Here from my garret-pane, I mark

What wonder that I should be drea… Out here in the garden to-day? The light through the leaves is st… Paulina cries, “Play!” The birds to each other are callin…

(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?

It is so long gone by, and yet How clearly now I see it all! The glimmer of your cigarette, The little chamber, narrow and tal… Perseus; your picture in its frame…

"Mein Herz, mein Herz ist trau… Doch lustig leuchtet der Mai" There’s May amid the meadows, There’s May amid the trees; Her May-time note the cuckoo

He comes; I hear him up the stree… Bird of ill omen, flapping wide The pinion of a printed sheet, His hoarse note scares the eventid… Of slaughter, theft, and suicide

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

With Apologies to Mr. Swinbur… For repose I have sighed and have… I am held in the Circle of Being… I was wan and weary with life ; my… I was weary of women and war and t…

With fruit and flowers the board i… The wine and laughter flow; I’ll not complain—could one expect So dull a world to know? You look across the fruit and flow…