There is a house with ivied walls, And mullioned windows worn and old… And the long dwellers in those hal… Have souls that know but sordid ca… And dote on gold.

This love puts all humanity from m… I can but maledict her, pray her d… For giving love and getting love o… Feeding a heart that else mine own… How much I love I know not, life…

To my native place Bent upon returning, Bosom all day burning To be where my race Well were known, ‘twas much with m…

YOUR troubles shrink not, though… Here, far away, than when I tarri… I even smile old smiles—with listl… Yet smiles they are, not ghastly m… A thought too strange to house wit…

If hours be years the twain are bl… For now they solace swift desire By bonds of every bond the best, If hours be years. The twain are… Do eastern stars slope never west,

Her house looked cold from the fog… And the square of each window a du… Where showed no stir: Yes, her gloom within at the lack… Seemed matching mine at the lack o…

PART I ‘I have a Love I love too well Where Dunkery frowns on Exon Moo… I have a Love I love too well, To whom, ere she was mine,

"No—not where I shall make my own…    But dig his grave just by The woman’s with the initialed sto…    As near as he can lie - After whose death he seemed to ail…

Francois Hippolite Barthelemon, f… composed what was probably the mos… written. It was formerly sung, ful… churches, to Bishop Ken’s words,… He said: ‘Awake my soul, and with…

WHEN I look forth at dawning, po… Field, flock, and lonely tree, All seem to look at me Like chastened children sitting si… Their faces dulled, constrained, a…

Dora’s gone to Ireland Through the sleet and snow; Promptly she has gone there In a ship, although Why she’s gone to Ireland

Shall we conceal the Case, or tel…    We who believe the evidence?    Here and there the watch-towers…    With a sullen significance, Heard of the few who hearken inten…

My ardours for emprize nigh lost Since Life has bared its bones to… I shrink to seek a modern coast Whose riper times have yet to be; Where the new regions claim them f…

Why go to Saint-Juliot? What’s J… I’ve been but made fancy By some necromancy That much of my life claims the sp… Yes. I have had dreams of that pl…

Dear Lizbie Browne, Where are you now? In sun, in rain? - Or is your brow Past joy, past pain,