I pray you, all ye men who put you… In moulds and systems and well-tac… Holding that Nature lives from ye… In one continual round because she… Set me not down, I pray you, in t…

’Tis not the violent hands alone t… The curse, the ravage, and the dow… Although to these full oft the yaw… Owes deadly surfeit; but a keener… A more immortal agony will cling

Alas, ’tis cold and dark! The wind all night hath sung a win… Hail from black clouds that swallo… Beat, beat against my bark. Oh! why delays the spring?

I say! hey! cousin there! I mustn… Yet you have a tail behind, and I… You pull, and I pull, though we d… You have less hardship, and I hav… II.

Mourner, that dost deserve thy mou… Call thyself punished, call the ea… Say, ‘God is angry, and I earned… I would not have him smile on wick… Say this, and straightway all thy…

Still flowed the music, flowed the… The youth in silence went; Through naked streets, in cold moo… His homeward way he bent, Where, on the city’s seaward line,

A lang-backit, spilgie, fuistit au… Gangs a’ nicht rakin athort the wa… Wi’ a pock on his back, luikin hun… His crook-fingert han’ aye followi… He gathers up a’thing that canna b…

Little Boy Blue lost his way in a… Sing apples and cherries, roses an… He said, 'I would not go back if… It’s all so jolly and funny!’ He sang, ‘This wood is all my own…

In the hot sun, for water cool She walked in listless mood: When back she ran, her pitcher ful… Forgot behind her stood. Like one who followed straying she…

There was John Gordon an’ Archib… An’ a yerl’s twin sons war they; Quhan they war are an’ twenty year… They fell oot on their ae birthday… ‘Turn ye, John Gordon, nae brithe…

In that high country whither thou… Right noble friend, thou walkest w… The gathered great of many a hundr… Few are left like thee-few, I say… Else were thy England soon a Baby…

Sometimes, O Lord, thou lightest… A lamp that well might pharos all… Anon the light will neither rise n… Shrouded in danger gray the beacon… A pharos? Oh dull brain! poor dyi…

Days of old, Ye are not dead, though gone from… Ye are not cold, But like the summer-birds fled o’e… The sun brings back the swallows f…

‘WHO is this little one lying,’ Said Time, ‘at my garden-gate, Moaning and sobbing and crying, Out in the cold so late?’ ‘They lurked until we came near,

Thrice-happy he whose heart, each… When old-worn day hath vanished o’… And he hath laid him down in chamb… Straightway begins to tremble and… And loose faint flashes toward the…