What would I give for a heart of… Instead of this heart of stone ice… Hard and cold and small, of all he… What would I give for words, if o… But now in its misery my spirit ha…

I know a baby, such a baby, — Round blue eyes and cheeks of pink… Such an elbow furrowed with dimple… Such a wrist where creases sink. ‘Cuddle and love me, cuddle and lo…

My baby has a father and a mother, Rich little baby! Fatherless, motherless, I know an… Forlorn as may be: Poor little baby!

I bore with thee long weary days a… Through many pangs of heart, throu… I bore with thee, thy hardness, co… For three and thirty years. Who else had dared for thee what…

The peacock has a score of eyes, With which he cannot see; The cod—fish has a silent sound, However that may be; No dandelions tell the time,

Sleep, little Baby, sleep, The holy Angels love thee, And guard thy bed, and keep A blessed watch above thee. No spirit can come near

If a pig wore a wig, What could we say? Treat him as a gentleman, And say ‘Good day.’ If his tail chanced to fail,

Under the ivy bush One sits sighing, And under the willow tree One sits crying: — Under the ivy bush

Flowers preach to us if we will he… The rose saith in the dewy morn: I am most fair; Yet all my loveliness is born Upon a thorn.

Love, strong as Death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers: A green turf at his head; And a stone at his feet,

Underneath the growing grass, Underneath the living flowers, Deeper than the sound of showers: There we shall not count the hours By the shadows as they pass.

Swift and sure the swallow, Slow and sure the snail: Slow and sure may miss his way, Swift and sure may fail.

In the bleak midwinter, frosty win… Earth stood hard as iron, water li… Snow had fallen, snow on snow, sno… In the bleak midwinter, long ago. Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him,…

If the sun could tell us half That he hears and sees, Sometimes he would make us laugh, Sometimes make us cry: Think of all the birds that make

It is over. What is over? Nay, now much is over truly!— Harvest days we toiled to sow for; Now the sheaves are gathered newly… Now the wheat is garnered duly.