On the eighteenth of October we l… All ready to set sail, with a fres… A fortnight and nine days we in th… And no breeze ever reached us or s… Three ships of war had we, and the…

Black grows the southern sky, beto… And humming hive—bees homeward hur… They feel the change; so let us sh… And take the broad road while our… Ay, there some dropples moistened…

Maid of Jerusalem, by the Dead S… I wandered all sorrowing thinking… Thy city in ruins, thy kindred dep… All fallen and lost by the Ottoma… I saw thee sit there in disconsola…

In the cowslip pips I lie, Hidden from the buzzing fly, While green grass beneath me lies, Pearled with dew like fishes’ eyes… Here I lie, a clock—o’—clay,

Oh, the world is all too rude for… Oh, this world is but a rude world… Was there a nook in which the worl… That place would prove a paradise… And there to pluck the blackberry,…

Maids shout to breakfast in a merr… And the cat runs to hear the whett… And dogs are ever in the way to wa… The mouldy crust and falling bone… The wooden dishes round in haste a…

Love, meet me in the green glen, Beside the tall elm—tree, Where the sweetbriar smells so swe… There come with me. Meet me in the green glen.

Little trotty wagtail he went in t… And tittering, tottering sideways… He stooped to get a worm, and look… And then he flew away ere his feat… Little trotty wagtail, he waddled…

I loved thee, though I told thee… Right earlily and long, Thou wert my joy in every spot, My theme in every song. And when I saw a stranger face

Up this green woodland—ride let’s… And list the nightingale —she dwel… Hush! let the wood—gate softly cla… The noise might drive her from her… For here I’ve heard her many a me…

The heroes of the present and the… Were puny, vague, and nothingness… Thou didst a span grasp mighty to… And strain for glory when thy die… That little island, on the Atlant…

I love to see the old heath’s with… Mingle its crimpled leaves with fu… While the old heron from the lonel… Starts slow and flaps its melancho… An oddling crow in idle motion swi…

Who hath not felt the influence th… The weary mind in summers sultry h… When wandering thickest woods bene… Of ancient oaks and brushing namel… That verge the little ride who hat…

The Old Year’s gone away To nothingness and night: We cannot find him all the day Nor hear him in the night: He left no footstep, mark or place

The dewdrops on every blade of gra… that I am obliged to stoop down as… and those sprinkled on the ivy—wov… hazels, whitethorns and maples are… down to feel if they were hard, bu…