Despair is in the suns that shine, And in the rains that fall, This sad forsaken soul of mine Is weary of them all. They fall and shine on alien stree…

The city once again doth wear Her wonted dress of winter’s bride… Her mantle woven of misty air, With saffron sunlight faintly dyed… She sits above the seething tide,

Song is not dead, although to-day Men tell us everything is said. There yet is something left to say… Song is not dead. While still the evening sky is red…

You found my life, a poor lame bir… That had no heart to sing, You would not speak the magic word To give it voice and wing. Yet sometimes, dreaming of that ho…

The life of earth, how full of pai… Which greets us on our day of birt… Nor leaves us while we yet retain The life of earth. There is a shadow on our mirth,

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…

Ah yes, we know what you’re saying… As your eye glances over these No… ‘What asses are these that are bra… With flat and unmusical throats? Who writes such unspeakable patter…

When I was young and well and gla… I used to play at being sad; Now youth and health are fled away… At being glad I sometimes play.

[After Wordsworth.] It was a phantom of delight When first it gleamed upon my sigh… A scholarly distinction, sent To be a student’s ornament.

This is the time when larks are si… And higher still ascending and mor… This is the time when many a fleec… Runs lamb-like on the pastures of… This is the time when most I love…

Lost at sea, with all on board! No one saw their sinking sail, No one heard their dying wail, Heard them calling on the Lord— Lost at sea, with all on board.

I loved a little maiden In the golden years gone by; She lived in a mill, as they all d… (There is doubtless a reason why). But she faded in the autumn

When the weary night is fled, And the morning sky is red, Then my heart doth rise and say, ‘Surely she will come to-day.’ In the golden blaze of noon,

Sleep flies me like a lover Too eagerly pursued, Or like a bird to cover Within some distant wood, Where thickest boughs roof over

O Love, thine empire is not dead, Nor will we let thy worship go, Although thine early flush be fled… Thine ardent eyes more faintly glo… And thy light wings be fallen slow