Clerk Saunders and may Margaret Walked ower yon garden green; And sad and heavy was the love That fell thir twa between. ‘A bed, a bed,’ Clerk Saunders sa…

False Sir John a wooing came To a maid of beauty fair; May Colven was this lady’s name, Her father’s only heir. He wood her butt, he wood her ben,

Your hair and chin are like the ha… And chin Burne-Jones’s ladies wea… You were unfashionably fair In '83; And sad you were when girls are ga…

AH! leave the smoke, the wealth,… Of London, leave the bustling str… For still, by the Sicilian shore, The murmur of the Muse is sweet. Still, still, the suns of summer g…

Rob Roy from the Highlands cam, Unto the Lawlan’ border, To steal awa a gay ladie To haud his house in order. He cam oure the lock o’ Lynn,

Between the moonlight and the fire In winter twilights long ago, What ghosts we raised for your des… To make your merry blood run slow! How old, how grave, how wise we gr…

On these Nysæan shores divine The clusters ripen in a day. At dawn the blossom shreds away; The berried grapes are green and f… And full by noon; in day’s decline

Ye wells, ye founts that fall From the steep mountain wall, That fall, and flash, and fleet With silver feet, Ye woods, ye streams that lave

Dead—he is dead! The rouge has le… On that thin cheek where shone, pe… Even while the people laughed that… But yesterday. He died,—and not i… And many a black-robed caitiff sta…

The graver by Apollo’s shrine, Before the Gods had fled, would s… A shell or onyx in his hand, To copy there the face divine, Till earnest touches, line by line…

While others are asking for beauty… Or praying to know that for which… Or courting Queen Venus, that aff… Or chasing the Muses the weary an… The sage has found out a more exce…

(Clement Marot’s Frère Lubin, th… Some ten or twenty times a day, To bustle to the town with speed, To dabble in what dirt he may,— Le Frère Lubin’s the man you need…

Long life hath taught me many thin… That lukewarm loves for men who di… Weak wine of liking let them mix a… Not Love, that stings the soul wi… Happy, who wears his love-bonds li…

DEAD, with their eyes to the foe… Dead, with the foe at their feet; Under the sky laid low Truly their slumber is sweet, Though the wind from the Camp of…

Nay, be you pardoner or cheat, Or cogger keen, or mumper shy, You’ll burn your fingers at the fe… And howl like other folks that fry… All evil folks that love a lie!