Sonnets are full of love, and this… Has many sonnets: so here now shal… One sonnet more, a love sonnet, fr… To her whose heart is my heart’s q… To my first Love, my Mother, on w…
She sat and sang alway By the green margin of a stream, Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam. I sat and wept alway
I said of laughter: it is vain. Of mirth I said: what profits it? Therefore I found a book, and wri… Therein how ease and also pain, How health and sickness, every one
Lord Jesus, who would think that… Ah, who would think Who sees me ready to turn back or… That Thou art mine? I cannot hold Thee fast though Th…
She gave up beauty in her tender y… Gave all her hope and joy and plea… She covered up her eyes lest they… On vanity, and chose the bitter tr… Harsh towards herself, towards oth…
A cold wind stirs the blackthorn To burgeon and to blow, Besprinkling half—green hedges With flakes and sprays of snow. Through coldness and through keenn…
A pocket handkerchief to hem — Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! How many stitches it will take Before it’s done, I fear. Yet set a stitch and then a stitch…
Oh the rose of keenest thorn! One hidden summer morn Under the rose I was born. I do not guess his name Who wrought my Mother’s shame,
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…
I watched a rosebud very long Brought on by dew and sun and show… Waiting to see the perfect flower: Then, when I thought it should be… It opened at the matin hour
Three little children On the wide wide earth, Motherless children— Cared for from their birth By tender angels.
A toadstool comes up in a night, — Learn the lesson, little folk: — An oak grows on a hundred years, But then it is an oak.
Crying, my little one, footsore an… Fall asleep, pretty one, warm on m… I must tramp on through the winter… While the snow falls on me colder… You are my one, and I have not an…
By day she woos me, soft, exceedin… But all night as the moon so chang… Loathsome and foul with hideous le… And subtle serpents gliding in her… By day she woos me to the outer ai…
Rosy maiden Winifred, With a milkpail on her head, Tripping through the corn, While the dew lies on the wheat In the sunny morn.