Per me si va nella citta dolente. —Dante Poi di tanto adoprar, di tanti mot… D’ogni celeste, ogni terrena cosa, Girando senza posa,

Mr. MacCall at Cleveland Hall, Sunday evening—date to fix— Fifteenth April, sixty-six, Speech reported and redacted By a fellow much distracted.

LOVE’S DAWN Still thine eyes haunt me; in the… The dreamtime, the hushed stillnes… I see them shining pure and earnes… And here, all lonely, may I not a…

To Alice and Hypatia Bradlaugh Who was Lilah? I am sure She was young and sweet and pure; With the forehead wise men love,- Here a lucid dawn above

This field of stones, he said, May well call forth a sigh; Beneath them lie the dead, On them the living lie.

Arcane danze D’immortal piede I ruinosi gioghi Scossero e l’ardue selve (oggi rom… Nido de’ venti). LEOPARDI Through the country to the town

In the endless nights, from my bed… I startle the stillness and gloom… 0 Love! 0 Beloved long lost! come… For my heart is wasting and dying… Come down for a moment! oh, come!…

Once in a saintly passion I cried with desperate grief, “O Lord, my heart is black with g… Of sinners I am chief.” Then stooped my guardian angel

Waking one morning In a pleasant land, By a river flowing Over golden sand:— Whence flow ye, waters,

A near the dying of that royal day Those amber-vested hills began to… And soon a lofty Pharos, gleaming… Upon its isle set darkly in the li… Beckoned us onward to the spacious…

His eyes found nothing beautiful a… Nor wealth nor honour, glory nor d… Which he could grasp and keep with… Flowers bloomed for maidens, sword… The world’s big children had their…

THE WHITE-ROSE garland at he… The crown of laurel at her head, Her noble life on earth complete, Lay her in the last low bed For the slumber calm and deep:

“Why are your songs all wild and b… As funeral dirges with the orphans… Each night since first the world w… A sequent day to laugh it down the… Chant us a glee to make our hearts…

THE CHURCH stands there beyond… How yearningly I gaze upon its sp… Lifted mysterious through the twil… Dissolving in the sunset’s golden… Or dim as slender incense morn by…

WHEN one is forty years and seve… Is seven and forty sad years old, He looks not onward for his Heave… The future is too blank and cold, Its pale flowers smell of graveyar…