It was a way of Helen’s not to si… The songs that other people sang;… Sometimes an extract from an olden… Again some floating, fragmentary t… And these she fitted to old melodi…

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The modes of expression have chang… That low is the rank of the poet w… The old-fashioned verse with inten… And quite out of date, too, is rhy…

He said he loved me! Then he call… Silk threads wherewith sly Cupid… My cheek a rose leaf fallen on new… And swore my round, full throat wo… To Venus or to Psyche.

With care, and skill, and cunning… She parried Time’s malicious dart… And kept the years at bay, Till passion entered in her heart And aged her in a day!

Let us clear a little space, And make Love a burial-place. He is dead, dear, as you see, And he wearies you and me. Growing heavier, day by day,

Let us begin, dear love, where we… Tie up the broken threads of that… And go on happy as before; and see… Lovers again, though all the world… Let us forget the graves, which li…

All the world was wearying, All the world was sad; Everything was shadow-filled; Things were going bad. Then a rumour stirred all hearts

In a land beyond sight or conceivi… In a land where no blight is, no w… No darkness, no graves, and no gri… There lies the great ocean of song… And its waves, oh, its waves unbeh…

These agent men! these agent men! We hear the dreaded step again, We see a stranger at the door; And brace ourselves for war once m… He bows and smiles. ‘Walk in,’ we…

The sun rode high in a cloudless s… Of a perfect summer morn. She stood and gazed out into the s… And wondered why she was born. On the topmost branch of a maple-t…

I saw fond lovers in that glow That oft-times fades away too soon… I saw and said, ‘Their joy I know… I, too, have had my honeymoon.’ A young expectant mother’s gaze

Look in the eyes of trouble with a… Extend your hand and do not be afr… —Tis but a friend who comes to mas… And test your faith and courage fo… Fly, and he follows fast with thre…

GOOD-BYE to the cradle, the dea… The rude hand of Progress has thr… No more to its motion o’er sleep’s… Our play-weary wayfarers peacefull… No more by the rhythm of slow-movi…