The Autumn is old, The sere leaves are flying;— He hath gather’d up gold, And now he is dying;— Old Age, begin sighing!

No sun - no moon! No morn– no noon – No dawn– no dusk– no proper time o… No warmth, no cheerfulness, no hea… No comfortable feel in any member…

‘Oh where, and oh where Is my bonny laddie gone?’ _Old Song_. One day, as I was going by That part of Holborn christened H…

Farewell, Life! My senses swim, And the world is growing dim; Thronging shadows cloud the light, Like the advent of the night,— Colder, colder, colder still,

“Who hath not felt that breath in… A perfume and freshness strange an… A warmth in the light, and a bliss… When young hearts yearn together? All sweets below, and all sunny ab…

An Allegory There’s a murmur in the air, And noise in every street— The murmur of many tongues, The noise of numerous feet—

By ev’ry sweet tradition of true h… Graven by Time, in love with his… By all old martyrdoms and antique… Wherein Love died to be alive the… Yea, by the sad impression on the…

Oh, very gloomy is the house of wo… Where tears are falling while the… With all the dark solemnities that… That Death is in the dwelling! Oh, very, very dreary is the room

BIANCA!—fair Bianca!—who could… With safety on her dark and hazel… Nor find there lurk’d in it a witc… Fatal to balmy nights and blessed… The peaceful breath that made the…

Most delicate Ariel! submissive t… Won by the mind’s high magic to it… Invisible embassy, or secret guest… Weighing the light air on a lighte… Whether into the midnight moon, to…

O’er hill, and dale, and distant s… Through all the miles that stretch… My thought must fly to rest on the… And would, though worlds should in… Nay, thou art now so dear, methink…

The dead are in their silent grave… And the dew is cold above, And the living weep and sigh, Over dust that once was love. Once I only wept the dead,

The curse of Adam, the old curse… Though I inherit in this feverish… Of worldly toil, vain wishes, and… And fruitless thought, in Care’s… Yet more sweet honey than of bitte…

One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly,

Good morrow to the golden morning, Good morrow to the world’s delight… I’ve come to bless thy life’s begi… Since it makes my own so bright! I have brought no roses, sweetest,