#Irish
Saint Margaret’s Eve it did befal… The waves roll so gayly O, The tide came creeping up the wall… Love me true! I opened my gate; who there should…
O English mother, in the ruddy gl… Hugging your baby closer when outs… You see the silent, soft, and crue… Falling again, and think what ills… Unshelter’d creatures,- your sad t…
The vast and solemn company of clo… Around the Sun’s death, lit, inca… Cool into ashy wan; as Night ensh… The level pasture, creeping up beh… Through voiceless vales, o’er lawn…
I once was a guest at a Nobleman’… Fair was the Bride, but she scarc… And now in our mirth, she had tear… Her former true lover still runs i… Attired like a minstrel, her forme…
Adieu to Belashanny! where I was bred and born; Go where I may, I’ll think of you… as sure as night and morn. The kindly spot, the friendly town…
O spirit of the Summer-time! Bring back the roses to the dells; The swallow from her distant clime… The honey-bee from drowsy cells. Bring back the friendship of the s…
Hayrick some do spell thy name, And thy verse approves the same; For ’tis like fresh-scented hay,— With country lasses in’t at play.
I thought it was the little bed I slept in long ago; A straight white curtain at the he… And two smooth knobs below. I thought I saw the nursery fire,
These little Songs, Found here and there, Floating in air By forest and lea, Or hill-side heather,
O Spirit of the Summertime! Bring back the roses to the dells… The swallow from her distant clime… The honey-bee from drowsy cells. Bring back the friendship of the s…
Adieu to Belashanny! where I was… Go where I may, I’ll think of you… The kindly spot, the friendly town… And not a face in all the place bu… There’s not a house or window, the…
In Sussex here, by shingle and by… Flat fields and farmsteads in thei… The shallow tide-wave courses to t… And all along the down a fringe on… Of ducal woods. That 'dim discove…
O pale green sea, With long, pale, purple clouds abo… What lies in me like weight of lov… What dies in me With utter grief, because there co…
Good-bye, good-bye to Summer! For Summer’s nearly done; The garden smiling faintly, Cool breezes in the sun; Our Thrushes now are silent,
That which he did not feel, he wou… What most he felt, religion it was… In a dumb darkling grotto, where t… Of tremulous tears, arising unespi… Became a holy well that durst not…