Sweet as the tender fragrance that… When martyred flowers breathe out… Sweet as a song that once consoled… But never will be sung to us again… Is thy remembrance. Now the hour…

'Twas Pentecost, the Feast of Gl… When woods and fields put off all… Thus began the King and spake: So from the halls Of ancient Hofburgh’s walls,

At La Chaudeau,—'tis long since t… I was young,—my years twice ten; All things smiled on the happy boy… Dreams of love and songs of joy, Azure of heaven and wave below,

'What was the end? I am ashamed Not to remember Reynard’s fate; I have not read the book of late; Was he not hanged?' the Poet said… The Student gravely shook his hea…

In the long, sleepless watches of… A gentle face —the face of one lon… Looks at me from the wall, where r… The night—lamp casts a halo of pal… Here in this room she died; and so…

With favoring winds, o’er sunlit s… We sailed for the Hesperides, The land where golden apples grow; But that, ah! that was long ago. How far, since then, the ocean str…

On sunny slope and beechen swell, The shadowed light of evening fell… And, where the maple’s leaf was br… With soft and silent lapse came do… The glory, that the wood receives,

At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town Of ancient Roman date, but scant… One of those little places that ha… Half up the hill, beneath a blazin… And then sat down to rest, as if t…

Two good friends had Hiawatha, Singled out from all the others, Bound to him in closest union, And to whom he gave the right hand Of his heart, in joy and sorrow;

Garlands upon his grave And flowers upon his hearse, And to the tender heart and brave The tribute of this verse. His was the troubled life,

As treasures that men seek, Deep buried in sea-sands, Vanish if they but speak, And elude their eager hands, So ye escape and slip,

The merchant’s word Delighted the Master heard; For his heart was in his work, and… Giveth grace unto every Art. A quiet smile played round his lip…

Filled is Life’s goblet to the br… And though my eyes with tears are… I see its sparkling bubbles swim, And chant a melancholy hymn With solemn voice and slow.

Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun. By the bedside, on the stair,