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,

Years grow and gather—each a gem Lustrous with laughter and with te… And cunning Time a crown of years Contrives for her who weareth them… No chance can snatch this diadem,

In vain you fervently extol, In vain you puff, your cutty clay. A twelvemonth smoked and black as… ’Tis redolent of rank decay And bones of monks long passed awa…

I know the garden-close of sin, The cloying fruits, the noxious fl… I long have roamed the walks and b… Desiring what no man shall win: A secret place to shelter in,

A day of gladness yet will dawn, Though when I cannot say; Perhaps it may be Thursday week, Perhaps some other day,— When man, freed from the bond of c…

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.

[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.

I have been lonely all my days on… Living a life within my secret sou… With mine own springs of sorrow an… Beyond the world’s control. Though sometimes with vain longing…

In youth with diligence he toiled A Roman nose to gain, But though a decent pug was spoile… A pug it did remain.

No gift I bring but worship, and… Which all must bear to lovely soul… Those lights, that, when all else… Stars in the night, to lift our ey… To lift our eyes and hearts, and m…

Oh for the nights when we used to… In the firelight’s glow or flicker… With the gas turned low and our pi… And the air fast growing thicker; When you, enthroned in the big arm…

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.

on returning to St. Andrews In the hard familiar horse-box I… Creeping back to old St. Andrews… Bearing bejants with their luggage… Which the porter, hot and tipless,…

For thee the birds shall never sin… Nor fresh green leaves come out up… The brook shall no more murmur the… For thee. Thou liest underneath the windswep…

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…