The mist hangs round the College… The ghostly street Is silent at this midnight hour, Save for my feet. With none to see, with none to hea…

with apologies to Lord Tennyson O swallow-tailed purveyor of colle… O skilled to please the student fr… Most honoured publican of Scotlan… Milton, a name to adorn the Cross…

These verses have I pilfered like… Out of a letter from my C. C. C. In London, showing what befell hi… With other things, of interest to… One page described a night in open…

Fickle Summer’s fled away, Shall we see her face again? Hearken to the weeping rain, Never sunbeam greets the day. More inconstant than the May,

Last night, when at parting Awhile we did stand, Suddenly starting, There fell on my hand Something that burned it,

I made a truce last night with So… The queen of tears, the foe of sle… To keep her tents until the morrow… Nor send such dreams to make me we… Before the lusty day was springing…

Ever to be the best. To lead In whatsoever things are true; Not stand among the halting crew The faint of heart, the feeble-kne… Who tarry for a certain sign

The fire burns bright And the hearth is clean swept, As she likes it kept, And the lamp is alight. She is coming to-night.

Oh, will the footsteps never be do… The insolent feet Thronging the street, Forsaken now of the only one. The only one out of all the throng…

How many the troubles that wait On mortals!—especially those Who endeavour in eloquent prose To expound their views, and orate. Did you ever attempt to speak

The voice that sings across the ni… Of long forgotten days and things, Is there an ear to hear aright The voice that sings? It is as when a curfew rings

The rain had fallen, the Poet aro… He passed through the doorway into… A strong wind lifted his hat from… And he uttered some words that wer… And then he started to follow the…

Another day let slip! Its hours h… Its golden hours, with prodigal ex… All run to waste. A day of life t… Of many wasted days, alas, but one… Through my west window streams the…

Here, where the thoroughfares meet… Of ninety degrees (this angle is r… You may hear the loafers that jest… Through the sun-lit day and the la… Though day be dreary and night be…

The air is dark and fragrant With memories of a shower, And sanctified with stillness By this most holy hour. The leaves forget to whisper