“‘Dead and gone,’—a sorry burden o… Say, fair maids, maying In gardens green, In deep dells straying, What end hath been

The man whom once, Melpomene, Thou look’st on with benignant sig… Shall never at the Isthmus be A boxer eminent in fight, Nor fares he foremost in the fligh…

DEAD, with their eyes to the foe… Dead, with the foe at their feet; Under the sky laid low Truly their slumber is sweet, Though the wind from the Camp of…

Thou that art sandalled on immorta… With leaves of palm, the prize of… Thou that art crowned with snakes… Queen of the silver dews and shado… I pray thee by all names men name…

There was a knight and lady bright Set trysts amo the broom, The one to come at morning eav, The other at afternoon. ‘I’ll wager a wager wi’ you,' he s…

St. Andrews by the Northern sea, A haunted town it is to me! A little city, worn and grey, The grey North Ocean girds it rou… And o’er the rocks, and up the bay…

In somer when the shawes be sheyne… And leves be large and longe, Hit is full mery in feyre foreste To here the foulys song. To se the dere draw to the dale,

In London city was Bicham born, He longd strange countries for to… But he was taen by a savage Moor, Who handld him right cruely. For thro his shoulder he put a bor…

Our youth began with tears and sig… With seeking what we could not fin… Our verses all were threnodies, In elegiacs still we whined; Our ears were deaf, our eyes were…

Now the light of the sun, in the n… Shines, and their city is girt wit… And deep is the shade of the woods… Sings of the sea, and is sweet fro… Green is their garden and orchard,…

There is a Heaven, or here, or th… A Heaven there is, for me and you… Where bargains meet for purses spa… Like ours, are not so far and few. Thuanus’ bees go humming through

She has just “put her gown on” at… She is learned in Latin and Greek… But lawn tennis she plays with a s… That the prudish remark with a shr… In her accents, perhaps, she is we…

Ye wells, ye founts that fall From the steep mountain wall, That fall, and flash, and fleet With silver feet, Ye woods, ye streams that lave

In twilight of the longest day I lingered over Lucian, Till ere the dawn a dreamy way My spirit found, untrod of man, Between the green sky and the grey…

Villanelle, why art thou mute? Hath the singer ceased to sing? Hath the Master lost his lute? Many a pipe and scrannel flute On the breeze their discords fling…