In all the grove, nor stream nor b… Nor aught beside my blows was hear… And the woods wore their noonday d… The glory of their silentness. From the island summit to the seas…

THOUGH deep indifference should… The sluggish life beneath my brows… And all the external things I see Grow snow—showers in the street to… Yet inmost in my stormy sense

WHEN the sun comes after rain And the bird is in the blue, The girls go down the lane Two by two. When the sun comes after shadow

With half a heart I wander here As from an age gone by A brother yet—though young in year… An elder brother, I. You speak another tongue than mine…

LATE, O miller, The birds are silent, The darkness falls. In the house the lights are lighte… See, in the valley they twinkle,

THE wind is without there and how… And the rain—flurries drum on the… Alone by the fireside with elbows… I can number the hours as they pas… Yet now, when to cheer me the cric…

Bring the comb and play upon it! Marching, here we come! Willie cocks his highland bonnet, Johnnie beats the drum. Mary Jane commands the party,

Dear Thamson class, whaure’er I g… It aye comes ower me wi’ a spang: “Lordsake! They Thamson lads - (… Or else lord mend them!) - An’ that Wanchancy annual sang

Not undelightful, friend, our rust… To grateful hearts; for by especia… Deep nested in the hill’s enormous… With its own ring of walls and gro… Sits, in deep shelter, our small c…

We travelled in the print of olden… Yet all the land was green, And love we found, and peace, Where fire and war had been. They pass and smile, the children…

My bed is like a little boat; Nurse helps me in when I embark; She girds me in my sailor’s coat And starts me in the dark. At night I go on board and say

“Chief of our aunts”—not only I, But all your dozen of nurselings c… “What did the other children do? And what were childhood, wanting y…

The embers of the day are red Beyond the murky hill. The kitchen smokes: the bed In the darkling house is spread: The great sky darkens overhead,

GO, little book– the ancient phra… And still the daintiest– go your w… My Otto, over sea and land, Till you shall come to Nelly’s ha… How shall I your Nelly know?

Sing clearlier, Muse, or evermore… Sing truer or no longer sing! No more the voice of melancholy J… To wake a weeping echo in the hill… But as the boy, the pirate of the…