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

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…

What is the end of all sweet thing… Of these dawns and twilights and g… Of the rose that climbs, and the s… Of the breeze that sighs, and the… Dust and ashes and death?

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.

Once Youth and Innocence, side by… With flaming swords at a garden ga… Stood forth in silence, to watch a… Lest lust and evil their might def… Love’s rarest fruits in that garde…

Oh! golden is the gorse-bush. Beneath an April sky, The lark is full of singing, The clouds are white and high ; But my love, my love is faithless.

A drop of dew that on a rose-bud c… A ray of sunshine in a world of S… A bird, who singing from some hidd… Is bathed in streams of endless me… An open flower you trod on as you…

I MIND me of the hawthorn trees, With cuckoos flying near ; The hawthorn blossoms smelt so swe… The cuckoo called so clear! The hill was steep enough to climb…

Time hangs suspended 'mid the perf… With limpid wings, o’er which the… Gleams like a tear, within the ten… Desirous eyes of love-lorn Destin… The earth is dumb, the scents of m…

Along the hills the olives grow. And almonds bloom in early Spring… And many are the streams that flow… And countless are the birds that s… The air is cool with distant snow,

If not from Phaon I must hope for… Ah! let me seek it from the raging… To raging seas unpitied I’ll remo… And either cease to live or cease… Ovid’s Heroic Epistle, XV.

This valley now in sun, and now in… Is like the musings of your tender… That pauses, bathed in joy, yet ha… To look before, and then to gaze b… Along the fragrant meadows slowly…

At close of June’s most burning d… We took a ship and sailed away: In mid-Potomac stream sailed we. To Old Point Comfort by the sea. The heavy hanging air of dusk

Oh! the wind among the trees, How it stirs their wood to song! Little whispered melodies. All the winding road along. Was there ever such a sound,