Thou art queen to every eye, When the fairest maids convene. Envy’s self can not deny Thou art queen. In thy step thy right is seen,

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…

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…

When people tell me they have love… But once in youth, I wonder, are they always moved To speak the truth? Not that they wilfully deceive:

from the unpublished remains of Ed… In the oldest of our alleys, By good bejants tenanted, Once a man whose name was Wallace… William Wallace’€”reared his head…

Every critic in the town Runs the minor poet down; Every critic—don’t you know it? Is himself a minor poet.

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 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

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

When we have laid aside our last e… And said farewell to one or two th… And issued from the house of life… To find a lodging in the house of… With eyes fast shut, in sunless ch…

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…

The lady stood at the station bar, (Three currants in a bun) And oh she was proud, as ladies ar… (And the bun was baked a week ago.… For a weekly wage she was standing…

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…

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

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…