WE are born; we laugh; we weep; We love; we droop; we die! Ah! wherefore do we laugh or weep? Why do we live, or die? Who knows that secret deep?

The brand is on thy brow, A dark and guilty spot; ’Tis ne’er to be erased! ’Tis ne’er to be forgot! The brand is on thy brow!

TOUCH us gently, Time! Let us glide adown thy stream Gently,—as we sometimes glide Through a quiet dream. Humble voyagers are We,

THE SEA! the sea! the open sea! The blue, the fresh, the ever free… Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth’s wide region… It plays with the clouds; it mocks…

A THOUSAND miles from land are… Tossing about on the roaring sea; From billow to bounding billow cas… Like fleecy snow on the stormy bla… The sails are scatter’d abroad, li…

TELL me, what is a poet’s though… Is it on the sudden born? Is it from the starlight caught? Is it by the tempest taught, Or by whispering morn?

When I was twenty inches long, I could not hear the thrush’s song… The radiance of the morning skies Was most displeasing to my eyes. For loving looks, caressing words,

SING, I pray, a little song, Mother dear! Neither sad nor very long: It is for a little maid, Golden-tressed Adelaide!

RISE! Sleep no more! ’T is a no… The dews hang thick on the fringed… And the frost shrinks back, like a… Under the steaming, steaming groun… Behold, where the billowy clouds f…

HOW many summers, love, Have I been thine? How many days, thou dove, Hast thou been mine? Time, like the winged wind

I am a Witch, and a kind old Witc… There’s many a one knows that— Alone I live in my little dark ho… With Pillycock, my cat. A girl came running through the ni…

I wakened on my hot, hard bed; Upon the pillow lay my head; Beneath the pillow I could hear My little watch was ticking clear. I thought the throbbing of it went

GAMARRA is a dainty steed, Strong, black, and of a noble bree… Full of fire, and full of bone, With all his line of fathers known… Fine his nose, his nostrils thin,

Here’s a health to thee, Mary, Here’s a health to thee; The drinkers are gone, And I am alone, To think of home and thee, Mary.

PEACE! what do tears avail? She lies all dumb and pale, And from her eye The spirit of lovely life is fadin… And she must die!