ONE day the River of Life flowed o'er
The verge of heaven's enchanted shore,
And falling without lapse or break.
Its waters formed this wondrous lake.

Twenty Years

© Francis Bret Harte

Beg your pardon, old fellow! I think
I was dreaming just now when you spoke.
The fact is, the musical clink
Of the ice on your wine-goblet's brink
A chord of my memory woke.

O Corvo (Portuguese translation of Poe's "Raven")

© Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis

Em certo dia, à hora
Da meia-noite que apavora,
Eu, caindo de sono e exausto de fadiga,
Ao pé de muita lauda antiga,

Bright Be The Place Of Thy Soul!

© George Gordon Byron

Bright be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.

Sonnet XLI: When Men Shall Find

© Samuel Daniel

When men shall find thy flower, thy glory pass,

And thou with carefull brow sitting alone,

The Vagabonds

© Bliss William Carman

We go unheeded as the stream
That wanders by the hill-wood side,
Till the great marshes take his hand
And lead him to the roving tide.

At Bonneval

© Barnabe Googe

O fond Affection,

wounder of my heart,

Limerick: There was an Old Person of Dover

© Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Dover,
Who rushed through a field of blue Clover;
But some very large bees,
Stung his nose and his knees,
So he very soon went back to Dover.

The Watches Of The Night

O the waiting in the watches of the night!

In the darkness, desolation, and contrition and affright;

Aquarelle

© Charles Cros

Au bord du chemin, contre un églantier,
Suivant du regard le beau cavalier
Qui vient de partir, Elle se repose,
Fille de seize ans, rose, en robe rose.

To An Enthusiast

© Thomas Hood

Young ardent soul, graced with fair Nature's truth,
Spring warmth of heart, and fervency of mind,
And still a large late love of all thy kind.
Spite of the world's cold practice and Time's tooth,

April -- North Carolina

Would you not be in Tryon
Now that the spring is here,
When mocking-birds are praising
The fresh, the blossomy year?

A Lament for my Son Tsui

© Bai Juyi

You were a pearl

In the palm of my hand,

Upon my Lap my Sovereign Sits

I grieve that duty doth not work
All that my wishing would,
Because I would not be to thee
But in the best I should.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!