O May she comes, and may she goes… Down by yon gardens green, And there she spied a gallant squi… As squire had ever been. And may she comes, and may she goe…

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…

Still sing the mocking fairies, as… Beneath the shade of thorn and hol… The west wind breathes upon them,… And wolves still dread Diana roam… In secret woodland with her compan…

When these Old Plays were new, th… Beside the Cardinal’s chair, Applauded, 'mid the courtly ring, The verses of Moliere; Point-lace was then the only wear,

Here I’d come when weariest! Here the breast Of the Windburg’s tufted over Deep with bracken; here his crest Takes the west,

In twilight of the longest day I lingered over Lucian, Till ere the dawn a dreamy way My spirit found, untrod of man, Between the green sky and the grey…

Villanelle, why art thou mute? Hath the singer ceased to sing? Hath the Master lost his lute? Many a pipe and scrannel flute On the breeze their discords fling…

Whan he cam to his ain luve’s boui… He tirled at the pin, And sae ready was his fair fause l… To rise and let him in. ‘O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland,’…

A. Ye Highlands, and ye Lawlands Oh where have you been? They have slain the Earl of Murra… And they layd him on the green.

(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…

She has just “put her gown on” at… She is learned in Latin and Greek… But lawn tennis she plays with a s… That the prudish remark with a shr… In her accents, perhaps, she is we…

St. Andrews by the Northern sea, A haunted town it is to me! A little city, worn and grey, The grey North Ocean girds it rou… And o’er the rocks, and up the bay…

O I forbid you, maidens a’, That wear gowd on your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tam Lin is there. There’s nane that gaes by Carterh…

ON Calais Sands the gray began, Then rosy red above they gray; The morn with many a scarlet van Leaped, and the world was glad wit… The little waves along the bay

Down Deeside cam Inveraye Whistlin’ and playing, An’ called loud at Brackley gate Ere the day dawning— ‘Come, Gordon of Brackley.