Happy poems

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A fountain issuing into light
Before a marble palace, threw
To heaven its column, pure and bright,
Returning thence in showers of dew;
But soon a humbler course it took,
And glide away a nameless brook.

Her Last Letter

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

Sitting alone by the window,

Watching the moonlit street,

With Dog And Gun

© Edgar Albert Guest

Out in the woods with a dog an' gun

Is my idea of a real day's fun.

An Apology For The Clergy,

© Mary Barber

How well these Laymen love to gibe,
And throw their Jests on Levi's Tribe!
Must One be toil'd to Death, they cry,
Whilst other Priests are yawning by?
Forgetful that He reaps the Gain,
Why should They waste their Lungs in vain?

Waking

© John Le Gay Brereton

ABOVE us hangs the jewelled night;

And how her restful cool caresses

Lines. "And I"

© Frances Anne Kemble

And I

Am reading, too, my book of memory:

The Wisdom Of Merlyn

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

These are the time--words of Merlyn, the voice of his age recorded,
All his wisdom of life, the fruit of tears in his youth, of joy in his manhood hoarded,
All the wit of his years unsealed, to the witless alms awarded.

Youth And Age

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

To give the blossom and the fruit
The soft warm air that wraps them round,
Oh! think how long the toilsome root
Must live and labour 'neath the ground.

O, Vrba, Happy Village, My Old Hme

© France Preseren

O, Vrba, happy village, my old home -
My father's cottage stands there to this day.
The lure of learning beckoned me away.
Its serpent wiles enticing me to roam,

The Apology

© Charles Churchill

ADDRESSED TO THE CRITICAL REVIEWERS.

Tristitiam et Metus.--HORACE.

Paracelsus: Part V: Paracelsus Attains

© Robert Browning

Paracelsus.
Stay, stay with me!

Alas! Where Have All The Years Gone

© Walther von der Vogelweide

Alas! Where have all the years gone?

Did I dream my life, or is it real?

Address To Certain Golfishes

RESTLESS forms of living light

Quivering on your lucid wings,

To Rosemary, On The Methods By Which She Might Become An Angel

Not where the sober sisters, grave as willows,
Walk like old twilights by the jasper sea,
Nor where the plump hunt of cherubs holly-hilloes
Chasing their ruddy fox, the sun, you'll be!

The Columbiad: Book III

© Joel Barlow

His eldest hope, young Rocha, at his call,
Resigns his charge within the temple wall;
In whom began, with reverend forms of awe,
The functions grave of priesthood and of law,