A fearful and a lovely thing is S… And mighty store of secrets hath i… And those there were of old who we… What meant his fearfulness and lov… And all his many shapes of life an…

A squalid, hideous town, where str… With vomit of a hundred roaring mi… Hither occasion calls me; and ev’n… All in the sable reek that wantonl… Defames the sunlight and deflowers…

So, being risen, the Prince in br… Forth to the market-place, where b… Of them that bought and them that… Of many sounds in murmurous union– buzzing as of bees about their hiv…

Nay, bid me not my cares to leave, Who cannot from their shadow flee. I do but win a short reprieve, ‘Scaping to pleasure and to thee. I may, at best, a moment’s grace,

Now as it chanced, the day was alm… When down the lonely mountain-side… The whitehaired man, the Prince t… He won the silence of the valley w… The city’s many towers uprose, the…

I Love cometh and love goeth, And he is wise who knoweth Whither and whence love flies: But wise and yet more wise Are they that heed not whence he f…

Last night the seawind was to me A metaphor of liberty, And every wave along the beach A starlit music seemed to be. To-day the seawind is to me

[Mr. Oscar Wilde, having discover… And wilt thou, Oscar, from us fle… And must we, henceforth, wholly se… Shall thy laborious _jeux-d’esprit… Sadden our lives no more for ever?

Drifting through vacant spaces vas… One overtook me like a flying star And whirled me onward in his glist… From shade to shade the wingèd ste… And clomb the midnight like a moun…

Not here, O teeming City, was it… Thy lover, thy most faithful, shou… But where the multitudinous life-t… Whose ocean-murmur was to him more… Than melody of birds at morn, or b…

Go, Verse, nor let the grass of t… Beneath thy feet iambic. Southwar… O’er Thamesis his stream, nor hal… Thou reach the summit of a suburb… To lettered fame not unfamiliar: t…

Inhospitably hast thou entertained… O Poet, us the bidden to thy boar… Whom in mid-feast, and while our t… Are one laudation of the festal ch… Thou from thy table dost dismiss,…

England my mother, Wardress of waters. Builder of peoples, Maker of men,- Hast thou yet leisure

As some most pure and noble face, Seen in the thronged and hurrying… Sheds o’er the world a sudden grac… A flying odour sweet, Then, passing, leaves the cheated…