The day is ending, The night is descending; The marsh is frozen, The river dead. Through clouds like ashes

O gift of God! O perfect day: Whereon shall no man work, but pla… Whereon it is enough for me, Not to be doing, but to be! Through every fibre of my brain,

No hay pajaros en los nidos de ant… Spanish Proverb The sun is bright,—the air is clea… The darting swallows soar and sing… And from the stately elms I hear

No sound of wheels or hoof—beat br… The silence of the summer day, As by the loveliest of all lakes I while the idle hours away. I pace the leafy colonnade,

Lo! in the painted oriel of the W… Whose panes the sunken sun incarna… Like a fair lady at her casement,… The evening star, the star of love… And then anon she doth herself div…

Touched by the pathos of these rhy… The Theologian said: ‘All praise Be to the ballads of old times And to the bards of simple ways, Who walked with Nature hand in ha…

With what a glory comes and goes t… The buds of spring, those beautifu… Of sunny skies and cloudless times… Life’s newness, and earth’s garnit… And when the silver habit of the c…

Love, love, what wilt thou with th… Naught see I fixed or sure in the… I do not know thee,—nor what deeds… Love, love, what wilt thou with th… Naught see I fixed or sure in the…

Under Mount Etna he lies, It is slumber, it is not death; For he struggles at times to arise… And above him the lurid skies Are hot with his fiery breath.

EVEN as the Blessed, at the fina… Shall rise up quickened, each one… Wearing again the garments of the… So, upon that celestial chariot, A hundred rose ad vocem tanti seni…

The night is come, but not too soo… And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heav…

It is the Harvest Moon! On gilde… And roofs of villages, on woodland… And their aerial neighborhoods of… Deserted, on the curtained window-… Of rooms where children sleep, on…

Come, old friend! sit down and lis… From the pitcher, placed between u… How the waters laugh and glisten In the head of old Silenus! Old Silenus, bloated, drunken,

From the outskirts of the town Where of old the mile—stone stood, Now a stranger, looking down I behold the shadowy crown Of the dark and haunted wood.

O, how blest are ye whose toils ar… Who, through death, have unto God… Ye have arisen From the cares which keep us still… We are still as in a dungeon livin…