What profits it, O England, to pr… In camp and mart and council, and… With argosies thy oceans, and rene… With tribute levied on each golden… Thy treasuries, if thou canst hear…

The men who man our batteries, The men who serve our guns, They need not honeyed flatteries, For they are Britain’s sons! They go, when Duty speeds them,

‘NOT ours,’ say some, 'the though…    Asking no heaven, we fear no fa… Life is a feast, and we have banqu…    Shall not the worms as well? ‘The after-silence, when the feast…

There is a race of men, who master… Their victory being inversely as t… Who capture by refraining from pur… Shake not the bough, yet load thei… The earth’s high places who attain…

’Tis human fortune’s happiest heig… A spirit melodious, lucid, poised,… Second in order of felicity I hold it, to have walk’d with suc… * * * * *

A letter from abroad. I tear Its sheathing open, unaware What treasure gleams within; and t… Like bird from cage– Flutters a curl of golden hair

Here, peradventure, in this mirror… Who gazes long and well at times b… Some sunken feature of the mummied… But oftener only the embroidered f… And soiled magnificence of her ren…

HE sits above the clang and dust… With the world’s secret trembling… He asks not converse or companions… In the cold starlight where thou c… The undelivered tidings in his bre…

Eldest born of powers divine! Bless’d Hygeia! be it mine To enjoy what thou canst give, And henceforth with thee to live: For in power if pleasure be

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…

So without rest or tarriance all t… Until the world was blear with com… Forth fared the princely fugitive,… His wearied feet till morn returni… Some village all a-hum with wakefu…

They wrong’d not us, nor sought 'g… The bitter battle. On their God t… For succour, deeming justice to ab… In heaven, if banish’d from earth’… And when they rose with a gall’d l…

APRIL, April, Laugh thy girlish laughter; Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears! April, that mine ears

April, April, Laugh thy girlish laughter; Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears! April, that mine ears

’Twas at this season, year by year… The singer who lies songless here Was wont to woo a less austere, Less deep repose, Where Rotha to Winandermere