Fain would I shake thee off, but… Thy strong solicitations to withst… Plenty of work lies ready to my ha… Which rests irresolute, and lets i… How can I work, when that seducti…

Till the tread of marching feet Through the quiet grass-grown stre… Of the little town shall come, Soldier, rest awhile at home. While the banners idly hang,

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…

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,

From Jean Pierre Claris Florian I love to see the swallows come At my window twittering, Bringing from their southern home News of the approaching spring.

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…

Artemis! thou fairest Of the maids that be In divine Olympus, Hail! Hail to thee! To thee I bring this woven weed

When one is young and eager, A bejant and a boy, Though his moustache be meagre, That cannot mar his joy When at the Competition

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,

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.

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…

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…

Short space shall be hereafter Ere April brings the hour Of weeping and of laughter, Of sunshine and of shower, Of groaning and of gladness,

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.

I hear a twittering of birds, And now they burst in song. How sweet, although it wants the w… It shall not want them long, For I will set some to the note