Why do you shun me, Chloe, like t… That, fearful of the breezes and t… Has sought her timorous mother sin… And on the pathless mountain tops… Her trembling heart a thousand fea…

I say, as one who never feared The wrath of a subscriber’s bullet… I pity him who has a beard But has no little girl to pull it! When wife and I have finished tea…

Star of the East, that long ago Brought wise men on their way Where, angels singing to and fro, The Child of Bethlehem lay— Above that Syrian hill afar

To-day, fair Thisbe, winsome girl… Strays o’er the meads where daisie… Or, ling’ring where the brooklets… Laves in the cool, refreshing flow… To-morrow, Thisbe, with a host

The angel host that sped last nigh… Bearing the wondrous news afar, Came in their ever-glorious flight Unto a slumbering little star. ‘Awake and sing, O star!’ they cr…

Though care and strife Elsewhere be rife, Upon my word I do not heed ‘em; In bed I lie With books hard by,

Her nature is the sea’s, that smil… A radiant maiden in the moon’s sof… The unsuspecting seaman sets his s… Forgetful of the fury of her gales… To-morrow, mad with storms, the oc…

My books are on their shelves agai… And clouds lie low with mist and r… Afar the Arno murmurs low The tale of fields of melting snow… List to the bells of times agone

Two dreams came down to earth one… From the realm of mist and dew; One was a dream of the old, old da… And one was a dream of the new. One was a dream of a shady lane

Away down East where I was reared… There used to live a pretty girl w… And though it’s many years since l… And though I feel I’m sadly worn… Still, oftentimes, I think about…

What perfumed, posie-dizened sirra… With smiles for diet, Clasps you, O fair but faithless… On the quiet? For whom do you bind up your tress…

Sweetheart, be my sweetheart When birds are on the wing, When bee and bud and babbling floo… Bespeak the birth of spring, Come, sweetheart, be my sweetheart

I count my treasures o’er with car… The little toy my darling knew, A little sock of faded hue, A little lock of golden hair. Long years ago this holy time,

To the willows of the brookside The mill wheel sings to-day— Sings and weeps, As the brooklet creeps Wondering on its way;

Syn that you, Chloe, to your mode… Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures fu… Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-h… Whenas come lovers with theyre pit… Sothly it ben faire to give up you…