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…

Homer, thy song men liken to the s… With all the notes of music in its… With tides that wash the dim domin… Of Hades, and light waves that la… Around the isles enchanted; nay, t…

Just one cast more! how many a yea… Beside how many a pool and stream, Beneath the falling leaves and ser… I’ve sighed, reeled up, and dreame… Dreamed of the sport since April…

Let others praise analysis And revel in a “cultured” style, And follow the subjective Miss From Boston to the banks of Nile, Rejoice in anti-British bile,

The modish Airs, The Tansey Brew, The SWAINS and FAIRS In curtained Pew; Nymphs KNELLER drew,

AS one that for a weary space has… Lull’d by the song of Circe and h… In gardens near the pale of Prose… Where that Aeaean isle forgets th… And only the low lutes of love com…

Of all Gods Death alone Disdaineth sacrifice: No man hath found or shown The gift that Death would prize. In vain are songs or sighs,

HAD cigarettes no ashes, And roses ne’er a thorn, No man would be a funker Of whin, or burn, or bunker. There were no need for mashies,

Apollo left the golden Muse And shepherded a mortal’s sheep, Theocritus of Syracuse! To mock the giant swain that woo’s The sea-nymph in the sunny deep,

I would my days had been in other… A moment in the long unnumbered ye… That knew the sway of Horus and o… In peaceful lands that border on t… I would my days had been in other…

Where smooth the southern waters r… By rustling leagues of poplars gre… Beneath a veiled soft southern sun… We wandered out of yesterday, Went maying through that ancient…

Friend, when you bear a care-dulle… And brow perplexed with things of… And fain would bid some charm unti… The bonds that hold you all too st… Behold a solace to your fate,

‘Once Cagn was like a father, kin… But He was spoiled by fighting ma… He wars upon the lions in the wood… And breaks the Thunder-bird’s tre… But still we cry to Him,—'We are…

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…

Our youth began with tears and sig… With seeking what we could not fin… Our verses all were threnodies, In elegiacs still we whined; Our ears were deaf, our eyes were…