The skies are strown with stars, The streets are fresh with dew A thin moon drifts to westward, The night is hushed and cheerful. My thought is quick with you.

The very small children in patched… Being smitten with an unusual wisd… Stopped in their play as she passe… And cried up from their cobbles: Guarda! Ahi, guarda! Ch’ è be’ a!

In vain have I striven, to teach my heart to bow; In vain have I said to him ‘There be many singers greater tha… But his answer cometh, as winds an…

Half a loaf, half a loaf, Half a loaf? Urn-hum? Down through the vale of gloom Slouched the ten million, Onward th’ 'ungry blokes,

The sky-like limpid eyes, The circular infant’s face, The stiffness from spats to collar Never relaxing into grace; The heavy memories of Horeb, Sina…

Vex not thou the banker’s mind (His what?) with a show of sense, Vex it not, Willie, his mind, Or pierce its pretence On the supposition that it ever

Aye you’re a man that! ye old mesm… Tyin’ your meanin’ in seventy swad… One must of needs be a hang’d earl… To catch you at worm turning. Hol… ‘Cat’s i’ the water butt!' Though…

Les yeux d’une morte M’ont salué, Enchassés dans un visage stupide Dont tous les autres traits étaien… Ils m’ont salué

Gladstone was still respected, When John Ruskin produced ‘King’s Treasuries’; Swinburne And Rossetti still abused. Foetid Buchanan lifted up his voi…

Beautiful, tragical faces’€” Ye that were whole, and are so sun… And, O ye vile, ye that might hav… That are so sodden and drunken, Who hath forgotten you?

Her grave, sweet haughtiness Pleaseth me, and in like wise Her quiet ironies. Others are beautiful, none more, s… I suppose, when poetry comes down…

For three years, out of key with h… He strove to resuscitate the dead… Of poetry; to maintain “the sublim… In the old sense. Wrong from the… No, hardly, but seeing he had been…

The ways of Death are soothing an… And all the words of Death are gr… From camp and church, the fireside… She beckons forth– and strife and… A summer night descending cool and…

Be in me as the eternal moods of the bleak wind, and not As transient things are— gaiety of flowers. Have me in the strong loneliness

Under a stagnant sky, Gloom out of gloom uncoiling into… The River, jaded and forlorn, Welters and wanders wearily—wretch… Yet in and out among the ribs