Four by the clock! and yet not day… But the great world rolls and whee… With its cities on land, and its s… Into the dawn that is to be! Only the lamp in the anchored bark

Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me As I gaze upon the sea! All the old romantic legends, All my dreams, come back to me. Sails of silk and ropes of sandal,

Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter! Ever thicker, thicker, thicker Froze the ice on lake and river, Ever deeper, deeper, deeper

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.

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…

Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and gast blew the blast, And the east—wind was his breath. His lordly ships of ice

When the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returne… 'T is sweet to visit the still woo… The first flower of the plain. I love the season well,

The hour was late; the fire burned… The Landlord’s eyes were closed i… And near the story’s end a deep, Sonorous sound at times was heard, As when the distant bagpipes blow.

There is a quiet spirit in these w… That dwells where’er the gentle so… Where, underneath the white—thorn,… The wild flowers bloom, or, kissin… The leaves above their sunny palms…

Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and gast blew the blast, And the east—wind was his breath. His lordly ships of ice

It was Einar Tamberskelver Stood beside the mast; From his yew-bow, tipped with silv… Flew the arrows fast; Aimed at Eric unavailing,

And King Olaf heard the cry, Saw the red light in the sky, Laid his hand upon his sword, As he leaned upon the railing, And his ships went sailing, sailin…

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 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,

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…