In the bowl of a shell Sings the wonderful song of the se… All the ebb and the swell, In the bowl of a shell. In the heart; of a pool

Ring on! Oh endless vesper bell! What can you know of that deep He… Upon this Earth, where men may dw… Ring on! Your calling is in vain, What holy rite can lull the pain

Sunlight and shade, Moorland and glade, Evening and day, Winter and May, Troubadour breeze,

Oh! weary ghosts, be still! Sad spectres of long dead delights… Wan spirits of the days and nights Wherein of joy we drank our fill, Lie deep beneath the sod of years.

Give me your hands to hold, For the night and the wind are col… And the year ‘s growing sad and ol… So give me your hands to hold. Give me your lips to press,

Hot with the ardour of the sun, Whose burning lips had slain the n… The golden pallor of the moon Was but an added fire, o’ercome With memories she swooned away,

If you would hear the thrushes sin… Then go to Georgetown in the spri… And wander slowly at your ease Along the avenues of trees. The sunshine and the shadows meet

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…

Bredon is a lonesome hill, It hasn’t any brothers ; It stands within the Severn vale, Apart from all the others. The Cotswold Hills go hand in han…

Oh! come to London, young lad, Lots is to be seen! But he said: ‘I cannot come, maid… Till the cuckoos all be dumb, maid… On the hills of green.’

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.

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,

Song Butterfly, butterfly, where are yo… ‘Over the roses into the sky.’ Butterfly, butterfly, there is no… When you’ll come back again, so go…

Why kinder to the breeze than unto… For oft you let him play within yo… Blow its soft curls about, and fin… The while he whispers low and tend… Into your ear; and yet how cold is…

‘ Oh! bother,’ sang the thrush, ‘I’m in an awful rush, For I’ve got to get ready for the… With feathers from my breast, I’ll line a cosy nest,