My fair-haired boy is sore bewitch… He goes all full of grieving; The web of gloom upon his brow Is sure of fairy weaving. His cheery laugh I never hear,

He was the son of a hunting squire And heir to a fair estate, And she but an humble serving maid Who opened his father’s gate. He thought her sweet as the garden…

In Rome, as I look from my lattic… And lean to the night, Where the living sleep, still as t… All in the sunlight. The dead are awake ‘mid our restin…

All day I lie beneath the great p… Whose perfumed branches wave and s… I hear the groaning of its straini… As in the breeze its thin leaves m… Like frantic fingers loosened and…

O Lady Aideen, will you wed with… A silken gown for your body’s wear… (One flirting magpie on the quicke… The proudest colt that my land has… For you shall chafe first harnessè…

Prince Charming, when the wizard’… Had wrecked for aye my fairyland; Had razed my castles to the earth, And killed my child heart with his… Then weeds grew rank where flowers…

Love lit a beacon in thine eyes, And I out in the storm, And lo! the night had taken wings; I dream me safe and warm. Love lit a beacon in thine eyes,

What will you give me, if I will… ‘A golden gown To come sweetly down, And deck you from foot to head.’ How will you keep me, if I am col…

White feet half hid in violets, sm… A burden of Spring’s first blosso… Into wreaths, as she paused a mome… O my child love! hesitating, there… So I stayed till I grew weary—man…

‘Ho! ’said the child, ‘how fine th… With nodding plumes, with measured… Who rides within this coach, is he… Some King, I think, for see, he r… I turned, and saw a little coffin…

On the dry brown bough The withered leaves still cling In their last desperate hold And ceaseless murmuring. They push the swinging branch

All in a bleak December My heart had summer-time; Crouched by the glowing ember, We found an Eden’s clime. The storm that shook the casements

This is my brave singer, With his beak of gold; Now my heart’s a captive In his song’s sweet hold. O, the lark’s a rover,

How restless are the dead whose si… In to our lone retreat or solitary… Within the dew-wet wood or sun-enc… We meet them face to face, we hear… How powerful are the dead whose vo…

The apple blossom from the bough i… In sunshine hours, the long young… The parent birds from branch to br… To cheer the flight of each belove… The woods awake, their winter slee…