Love much. Earth has enough of bi… Cast sweets into its cup whene’er… No heart so hard, but love at last… Love is the grand primeval cause o… All hate is foreign to the first g…

Who thinks how desolate and strang… To me must seem the autumn’s chang… When housed in attic or in chest, A lonely and unwilling guest, I lie through nights of bleak Dec…

Sitting alone by the window, Watching the moonlit street, Bending my head to listen To the well-known sound of your fe… I have been wondering, darling,

I want more lives in which to love This world so full of beauty, I want more days to use the ways I know of doing duty; I ask no greater joy than this

Oh! the earth is full of sinning And of trouble and of woe, But the devil makes an inning Every time we say it’s so. And the way to set him scowling,

To sin by silence, when we should… Makes cowards out of men. The hum… Has climbed on protest. Had no vo… Against injustice, ignorance and l… The Inquisition yet would serve t…

A vision beauteous as the morn, With heavenly eyes and tresses str… Slow glided o’er a field late shor… Where walked a poet idly dreaming. He saw her, and joy lit his face.

Hark! high o’er the rattle and cla… Of traffic-filled streets, do you… And pushing and rushing to see wha… Like herds of wild cattle, go pell… There’s a fire in the city! the en…

The world was widowed by the death… Vainly its suffering soul for peac… And found it not. For nothing, nothing, nothing has… To bring back comfort to the stric…

They tell me new methods now gover… The modes of expression have chang… That low is the rank of the poet w… The old-fashioned verse with inten… And quite out of date, too, is rhy…

All through the night time, and al… Dreading the morning and dreading… Nearer and nearer we drift to the… Season of beauty and season of bli… Leaves on the linden, and sun on t…

The queerest languages known to ma… Sanscrit, Hebrew, Hindoostan, Are all translated and made as fre… And comprehensive as A B C. Yet the oldest language talked or…

If I could clasp my little babe Upon my breast to-night, I would not mind the blowing wind That shrieketh in affright. Oh, my lost babe! my little babe,

Over the banisters bends a face, Daringly sweet and beguiling. Somebody stands in careless grace, And watches the picture, smiling. The light burns dim in the hall be…

One bitter time of mourning, I re… When day, and night, my sad heart… My life, I said, was one cold, bl… And all its pleasures, were but wh… Nothing could rouse me from my sul…