We three are on the cedar-shadowed… My friend being third. He who at… Is in the weak rib by a fatal shaf… Struck through, and tells his pass… And radiant culmination, glorious…

‘I play for Seasons; not Eterniti… Says Nature, laughing on her way.… All those whose stake is nothing m… And lo, she wins, and of her harmo… She is full sure! Upon her dying…

I, wakeful for the skylark voice i… Or straining for the angel of the… Rebuked am I by hungry ear and si… When I behold one lamp that throu… Goes hourly where most noisome; he…

By this he knew she wept with waki… That, at his hand’s light quiver b… The strange low sobs that shook th… Were called into her with a sharp… And strangled mute, like little ga…

When I would image her features, Comes up a shrouded head: I touch the outlines, shrinking; She seems of the wandering dead. But when love asks for nothing,

And-'Yonder look! yoho! yoho! Nancy is off!' the farmer cried, Advancing by the river side, Red-kerchieft and brown-coated;-'… My girl, who else could leap like…

One fairest of the ripe unwedded l… Her shadow on the Sage’s path; he… By common signs, that she had done… He could have made the sovereign h… With questions of the wherefore of…

Angelic love that stoops with heav… To meet its earthly mate; Heroic love that to its sphere’s e… Can dare to join its fate With one beloved devoted human hea…

She can be as wise as we, And wiser when she wishes; She can knit with cunning wit, And dress the homely dishes. She can flourish staff or pen,

Melpomene among her livid people, Ere stroke of lyre, upon Thaleia… Warned by old contests that one mu… Along those lips of rose with tend… Forebodes disturbance in the sprin…

[From the Mireio of Mistral] A hundred mares, all white! their… Like mace-reed of the marshy plain… Thick-tufted, wavy, free o’ the sh… And when the fiery squadron rears

The senses loving Earth or well o… Ravel yet more the riddle of our l… The mind is in their trammels, and… By trimming fear-bred tales; nor d… To find in nature things which les…

At last we parley: we so strangely… In such a close communion! It bef… About the sounding of the Matin—b… And lo! her place was vacant, and… Of loneliness was round me. Then…

Awakes for me and leaps from shrou… All radiantly the moon’s own night Of folded showers in streamer clou… Our shadows down the highway white Or deep in woodland woven-boughed,

‘Sirs! may I shake your hands? My countrymen, I see! I’ve lived in foreign lands Till England’s Heaven to me. A hearty shake will do me good,