Know you her secret none can utter… Hers of the Book, the tripled Cro… Still on the spire the pigeons flu… Still by the gateway flits the gow… Still on the street, from corbel a…

Senex. Saye, cushat, callynge fro… What ayles thee soe to pyne? Thy carefulle heart shall cease to… When dayes be fyne And greene thynges twyne:

Rudiments, Rudiments, and Rudimen… ‘Thinketh one made them i’ the fit… ‘Thinketh one made them with the ’… But not the answers; 'doubteth the… Only Guides, Helps, Analyses, su…

Adown the torturing mile of street I mark him come and go, Thread in and out with tireless fe… The crossings to and fro; A soul that treads without retreat

Tune—Luther’s Chorale ‘Ein’ feste burg ist unser Gott’ Of old our City hath renown. Of God are her foundations, Wherein this day a King we crown

After W. M. P. Dear Kitty, At length the term’s ending; I 'm in for my Schools in a week; And the time that at present I’m…

After C. S. C. When the hunter-star Orion (Or, it may be, Charles his Wain) Tempts the tiny elves to try on All their little tricks again;

A month ago Lysander pray’d To Jove, to Cupid, and to Venus, That he might die if he betray’d A single vow that pass’d between u… Ah, careless gods, to hear so ill

Do I sleep? Do I dream? Am I hoaxed by a scout? Are things what they seem, Or is Sophists about? Is our 'to ti en einai’ a failure,…

After T. I. As I laye a-dreamynge, a-dreamyng… O softlye moaned the dove to her m… And meseemed unto my syghte Came rydynge many a knyghte

By E. A. P. In the sad and sodden street, To and fro, Flit the fever-stricken feet Of the freshers as they meet,

’Tis pretty to be in Ballinderry, ’Tis pretty to be in Ballindoon, But ’tis prettier far in County K… Coortin’ under the bran’ new moon, Aroon, Aroon!

By Sir W. S. St. Giles’s street is fair and wi… St. Giles’s street is long; But long or wide, may naught abide Therein of guile or wrong;

O pastoral heart of England! like… Of green days telling with a quiet… O wave into the sunset flowing cal… O tirèd lark descending on the whe… Lies it all peace beyond the weste…

O Mary Leslie, blithe and shrill The bugles blew for Spain: And you below the Castle Hill Stood in the crowd your lane. Then hearts were wild to watch us…