#Americans #Victorians
Gone is the glory from the hills, The autumn sunshine from the mere, Which mourns for the declining yea… In all her tributary rills. A sense of change obscurely chills
In youth with diligence he toiled A Roman nose to gain, But though a decent pug was spoile… A pug it did remain.
Sleep flies me like a lover Too eagerly pursued, Or like a bird to cover Within some distant wood, Where thickest boughs roof over
Long since I came into the school… A child in works, but not a child… Slowly I learn, by her instructio… To be in works a man, in heart a c…
I shall be spun. There is a voice… Which tells me plainly I am all u… For though I toil not, neither do… I shall be spun. April approaches. I have not begu…
[After Longfellow.] I drove a golf-ball into the air; It fell to earth, I knew not wher… For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight.
Last night for the first time, O… I held your hand a moment in my ow… The dearest moment which my soul h… Since I beheld and loved you at f… I left you, and I wandered in the…
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
After Longfellow Loud he sang the song Ta Phershon For his personal diversion, Sang the chorus U-pi-dee, Sang about the Barley Bree.
This morning, while we sat in talk Of spring and apple-bloom, Lo! Death stood in the garden wal… And peered into the room. Your back was turned, you did not…
Ever to be the best. To lead In whatsoever things are true; Not stand among the halting crew The faint of heart, the feeble-kne… Who tarry for a certain sign
Would you like to see a city given… Soul and body, to a tyrannising ga… If you would, there’s little need… For St. Andrews is the abject cit… It is surely quite superfluous to…
After the melting of the snow Divines depart and April comes; Examinations nearer grow After the melting of the snow; The grinder wears a face of woe,
Fickle Summer’s fled away, Shall we see her face again? Hearken to the weeping rain, Never sunbeam greets the day. More inconstant than the May,
Come back to St. Andrews! Before… You said you would be wretched whe… The East sands and the West sands… Come back to St. Andrews—St. And… Oh, it’s dreary along South Stree…