You like the trifling triolet: Well, here are three or four. Unless your likings I forget, You like the trifling triolet. Against my conscience I abet

Last Sunday night I read the sadd… Of the unanswered love of fair El… The 'faith unfaithful’ and the joy… Of Lancelot, ‘groaning in remorse… I thought of all those nights in w…

One dark, dark night—it was long a… The air was heavy and still and wa… It fell to me and a man I know, To see two girls to their father’s… There was little seeing, that I r…

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…

On Her Marriage As those who hear a sweet bird sin… And love each song it sings the be… Grieve when they see it taking win… And flying to another nest:

Familiar with thy melody, We go debating of its power, As churls, who hear it hour by hou… Contemn the skylark’s minstrelsy - As shepherds on a Highland lea

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.

Be ye happy, if ye may, In the years that pass away. Ye shall pass and be forgot, And your place shall know you not. Other generations rise,

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…

‘In the shadow of Thy wings, O L… I will put my trust for ever,’ so… ‘Thou shalt help me, Thou shalt s… Thou shalt keep me whole, In the shadow of Thy wings.’

Brown was my friend, and faithful—… He came to see me in the twilight… I rose politely and invited him To take a seat—how heavily he sat! He sat upon the sofa, where my hat…

As through the street at eve we we… (It might be half-past ten), We fell out, my friend and I, About the cube of x+y, And made it up again.

Not the proudest damsel here Looks so well as doth my dear. All the borrowed light of dress Outshining not her loveliness, A loveliness not born of art,

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…

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