WHITE rose sighed in the morn, Red rose laughed in the noon, And ‘Sweetest sweetness is ended… And ‘Never heed for the thorn.’ ‘Love’s hour passes away,’

Joy that’s half too keen, and true… Makes us tears. Oh! the sweetness of the tears! If such joy at hand appears, Snatch it, give thine all for it;

BLITHE summer blossom, born too… Wilt make my desert garden fair? Lo Winter’s hand is on the gate, His breath is in the curdling air. Still yesterweek, but yesterweek,

The elm lets fall its leaves befor… The very oak grows shivering and s… The trees are barren when the summ… But one tree keeps its goodness al… Green pine, unchanging as the days…

DEAR love, good-night. And, tend… To make day fair when they unclose… Be hushed around her, Night, and… Thy silent guard on her repose; But speed thine hours.

’TWAS yesterday; ’twas long ago: And for this flaunting grimy stree… And for this crowding to and fro, And thud and roar of wheels and fe… Were elm-trees and the linnet’s tr…

WHAT is it that is dead? Somewhere there is a grave, and so… Cold in the ground, and stirs not… Nor songs that I can make, nor sm… Nor tenderest foolish words that…

‘AND when came I to this town?’… A question asked for the asking’s… Answered merely an answer to make, As stranger to stranger may; Answered enough with ‘Twas yester…

TELL thee truth, sweet; no. Truth is cross and sad and cold: Lies are pitiful and kind, Honey-soft as Love’s own tongue: Let me, love, lie so.

Young laughters, and my music! Ay… The voice can reach no blending mi… ’Tis the bird’s trill because the… And spring means trilling on a blo… ’Tis the spring joy that has no wh…

Poor little diary, with its simple… its good resolves, its “Studied F… “Read Modern History,” “Trimmed… “Darned stockings,” “Tatted,” “Pr… “Went to the daily service,” “Too…

YOUNG May sat fainting and chil… And neither could live nor die; She looked and hated the sky, Yet knew not what was her ill. Ah well-a-day!

Birds sing “I love you, love” the… And not another song can they sing… But, singing done with, loving’s d… The autumn sunders every twitterin… And I’d not have love make too mu…

A YOUNG fair girl among her flo… And, as to blossoms born in May, Her morrows still brought sunnier… Than made up sunny yesterday. She did but wait: ‘Hope is so swe…

A week ago; only a little week: it seems so much much longer, thou… is every morning still my yesterda… as all my life 'twill be my yester… for all my life is morrow to my lo…