#English
“O lonely workman, standing there In a dream, why do you stare and s… At her grave, as no other grave wh… “If your great gaunt eyes so impor… Her soul by the shine of this corp…
Who, then, was Cestius, And what is he to me? - Amid thick thoughts and memories m… One thought alone brings he. I can recall no word
(As sung by Mr. Charles Charring… O MY trade it is the rarest one, Simple shepherds all— My trade is a sight to see; For my customers I tie, and take…
I went by the Druid stone That broods in the garden white an… And I stopped and looked at the s… That at some moments fall thereon From the tree hard by with a rhyth…
Last year I called this world of… The darkest thinkable, and questio… If my own land could heave its pul… So charged it seemed with circumst… The tragedy of things.
South of the Line, inland from fa… A mouldering soldier lies—your cou… Awry and doubled up are his gray b… And on the breeze his puzzled phan… Nightly to clear Canopus: “I wou…
THIS love puts all humanity from… 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…
It was your way, my dear, To be gone without a word When callers, friends, or kin Had left, and I hastened in To rejoin you, as I inferred.
To my native place Bent upon returning, Bosom all day burning To be where my race Well were known, ‘twas much with m…
‘Whenever I plunge my arm, like t… In a basin of water, I never miss The sweet sharp sense of a fugitiv… Fetched back from its thickening s… Hence the only prime
I opened my shutter at sunrise, And looked at the hill hard by, And I heartily grieved for the co… Who wandered up there to die. I let in the morn on the morrow,
In his early days he was quite sur… When she told him she was compromi… By meetings and lingerings at his… And thinking not of herself but hi… While she lifted orbs aggrieved an…
“Had he and I but met By some old ancient inn, We should have sat us down to wet Right many a nipperkin! “But ranged as infantry,
By Corporal Tullidge. See “The… In Memory of S. C. (Pensioner).… WE trenched, we trumpeted and dru… And from our mortars tons of iron… Ath’art the ditch, the month we bo…
Here is the ancient floor, Footworn and hollowed and thin, Here was the former door Where the dead feet walked in. She sat here in her chair,