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I. THE FLOWER’S NAME Here’s the garden she walked across,Arm in my arm, such a short while since:Hark, now I push its wicket, the mossHinders the hinges and makes them wince!She must have reached this shrub ere she turned,As back…
Mr. Alfred Domett, C.M.G., author ofRanolf and Amohia, “full of descriptions ofNew Zealand scenery.] I.I. What’s become of WaringSince he gave us all the slip,Chose land-travel or seafaring,Boots and chest or staff and scrip,Rather than pace up and downAny longer…
He sings. I send my heart up to thee, all my heartIn this my singing.For the stars help me, and the sea bears part;The very night is clingingCloser to Venice’ streets to leave one spaceAbove me, whence thy faceMay light…
A Middle-Age Interlude. ROSA MUNDI; SEU, FULCITE ME FLORIBUS.A CONCEIT OF MASTER GYSBRECHT,CANON-REGULAR OF SAID JODOCUS-BY-THE-BAR,YPRES CITY. CANTUQUE, _Virgilius._AND HATH OFTEN BEEN SUNGAT HOCK-TIDE AND FESTIVALES. GAVISUSERAM,—Jessides. (It would seem to be a glimpse from theburning of Jacques du Bourg-Mulay,…
(Prologue to ‘The Two Poets of Croisic.’) Such a starved bank of mossTill, that May-morn,Blue ran the flash across:Violets were born! Sky–what a scowl of cloudTill, near and far,Ray on ray split the shroud:Splendid, a star! World–how it walled aboutLife…
(Epilogue to ‘The Two Poets of Croisic.’) What a pretty tale you told meOnce upon a time–Said you found it somewhere (scold me!)Was it prose or was it rhyme,Greek or Latin? Greek, you said,While your shoulder propped my head. Anyhow…
Verse-making was least of my virtues: I viewed with despairWealth that never yet was but might be–all that verse-making wereIf the life would but lengthen to wish, let the mind be laid bare.So I said, “To do little is bad,…
O’ Lyric Love, half angel and half bird,And all a wonder and a wild desire,—Boldest of hearts that ever braved the sun,Took sanctuary within the holier blue,And sang a kindred soul out to his face,—Yet human at the red-ripe of…
I. This is a spray the Bird clung to,Making it blossom with pleasure,Ere the high tree-top she sprang to,Fit for her nest and her treasure.Oh, what a hope beyond measureWas the poor spray’s, which the flying feet hung to,—So to…
I. Dear, had the world in its capriceDeigned to proclaim “I know you both,“Have recognized your plighted troth,Am sponsor for you: live in peace!”—How many precious months and yearsOf youth had passed, that speed so fast,Before we found it out…