Roses, I hate you! since you stil… Contentedly, where living love is… Can fling wan fragrance thro’ this… Lift languid petals shimmering 'mi… Where love is not.

Oh! the long green lanes of Engla… They be very far away, And it’s there that I’d be walkin… ‘Mid the hawthorn and the may. Where the trees are all in blossom…

O Italy of chiming bells, Of pilgrim shrines and holy wells, Of incense mist and secret prayers… Profound and sweet as scented airs Blown from a field of lily flowers…

What a lonely little corpse our lo… Very cold, and very still, and ver… Yet he throbbed with passion there… And we thought his every word divi… Have we both grown old, that neith…

Crush these voluptuous grapes betw… Your small, strong teeth! and let… Be offered in a sacrificial rain Of sun-warmed essence; while I tw… Of all their leaves, and place it…

I turn’d to you, the sky was amber… Blue haze and flaming bracken stre… In undulating mystery to the day, Reclining that the evening might b… And hide her softly 'neath his sta…

The noontide showers have drifted… The sunset’s on the hill, The lights be gleaming through the… Adown by Clincher’s Mill. It’s such a pretty evening, maid.

Once o’er this hill whereon we sta… Just you and I, hand clasp’d in h… Amid the silence, and the space, A mighty battle rent the air, With dying curse and choking praye…

You’re just as pretty as the Day, That young and pink above the hill… Trips daintily along her way, With little breezy thrills. I know that when she steps to eart…

The Moon looked in at the window, And smiled as I wrote to you, She lay like a frail white maiden, In shadowy folds of blue. Her bosom was bare and tender,

I often think that all those vast… For purer joys, that thrill the hu… Vague yearnings such as solitude i… That nameless something silence ca… Could after all be quenched by sim…

(Sidmouth) Evening upon the calm sweet sea, A little wind asleep, Dim sails that drift as tranquilly As dreams in slumber deep.

I BE hopin’ you remember, Now the Spring has come again, How we used to gather violets By the Uttle church at Eastnor, For we were so happy then!

I made a little funeral pyre, And on it laid my youthful rhymes, Those thoughts of innocent desire, Dear foolish words of childhood ti… Poor things they were, misspelt an…