In the wild October night-time, w… land, And the Back-sea met the front-se… with sand, And we heard the drub of dead-man’…

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.

Where once we danced, where once w… Gentlemen, The floors are sunken, cobwebs han… And cracks creep; worms have fed u… The doors. Yea, sprightlier times…

In a Wood Pale beech and pine-tree blue, Set in one clay, Bough to bough cannot you Bide out your day?

‘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

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…

At last I entered a long dark gal… Catacomb—lined; and ranged at the… Were the bodies of men from far an… Who, motion past, were nevertheles… “The sense of waiting here strikes…

As newer comers crowd the fore,    We drop behind. —We who have laboured long and sor…    Times out of mind, And keen are yet, must not regret

See, here’s the workbox, little wi… That I made of polished oak.' He was a joiner, of village life; She came of borough folk. He holds the present up to her

Why do you harbour that great chev… Filling up your narrow room? You never preen or plume, Or look in a week at your full—len… Picture of bachelor gloom!

Between the folding sea-downs, In the gloom Of a wailful wintry nightfall, When the boom Of the ocean, like a hammering in…

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

‘If ever I walk to church to wed, As other maidens use, And face the gathered eyes,’ she s… 'I’ll go in satin shoes!' She was as fair as early day

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…

By Rome’s dim relics there walks… Eyes bent; and he carries a basket… I guess what impels him to scrape… Yea, his dreams of that Empire lo… ‘Vast was Rome,’ he must muse, ‘i…