Sweet friends, receive my offering… Against each worded page a white p… This is the mirror of each friendl… Reflecting that. In this book we… Make it, dear hearts, of worth to…

They say that lonely sorrows do no… More gently, I think, sorrows tog… A new one joins the funeral glidin… With less of jar than when it brea… Grief swages grief, and joy doth j…

I know not what among the grass th… Thy nature, nor thy substance, fai… Nor what to other eyes thou hast o… To send thine image through them t… But when I push the frosty leaves…

Why dost thou want to sing When thou hast no song, my heart? If there be in thee a hidden sprin… Wherefore will no word start? On its way thou hearest no song,

Waking in the night to pray, Sleeping when the answer comes, Foolish are we even at play– Tearfully we beat our drums! Cast the good dry bread away,

Little Bo-Peep, she has lost her… And will not know where to find th… They are over the height and out o… Trailing their tails behind them! Little Bo-Peep woke out of her sl…

Who lights the fire-that forth so… And freely frolicketh the fairy sm… Some pretty one who never felt the… Glad girl, or maiden more sedate t… Pedant it cannot, villain cannot b…

‘And yet it moves!’ Ah, Truth, wh… When all for thee they racked each… Wert thou in heaven, and busy with… When those poor hands convulsed th… Art thou a phantom that deceives!…

O Lord of life, thy quickening vo… Awakes my morning song! In gladsome words I would rejoice That I to thee belong. I see thy light, I feel thy wind;

Lord, hear my discontent: all blan… A mirror polished by thy hand; Thy sun’s beams flash and flame fr… I cannot help it: here I stand, t… To one of them I cannot say,

Of the poor bird that cannot fly Kindly you think and mournfully; For prisoners and for exiles all You let the tears of pity fall; And very true the grief should be

All sights and sounds of day and y… All groups and forms, each leaf an… Are thine, O God, nor will I fea… To talk to thee of them .

LORD, what I once had done with… Had I been from the first true to… Grant me, now old, to do-with bett… And humbler heart, if not the brai… So wilt thou, in thy gentleness an…

Job XIV. 13-15. RONDEL. Would that thou hid me in the grav… And kept me with death’s gaoler-ca… Until thy wrath away should wear

Sad-hearted, be at peace: the snow… Buried in sepulchre of ghastly sno… But spring is floating up the sout… And darkling the pale snowdrop wai… Let me persuade: in dull December…