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The Bas Bleu: Or, Conversation. Addressed To Mrs. Vesey
© Hannah More
VESEY, of Verse the judge and friend,
Awhile my idle strain attend:
From Evangeline
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow,
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing,
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience!
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom,
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured,
Father, I thank thee!
St. Simon And St. Jude
© John Keble
Seest thou, how tearful and alone,
And drooping like a wounded dove,
The Cross in sight, but Jesus gone,
The widowed Church is fain to rove?
Summer Toils
© Kristijonas Donelaitis
"Of course, it is not nice for a gray-headed man,
To be shamed by the work of a young nincompoop,
When he intends to get more dollars for his pay,
And e'en is not ashamed to pry out more seed grain.
O what became of the bewhiskered Prussian days,
When hired help was so cheep and so obedient?
Cadenus And Vanessa
© Jonathan Swift
THE shepherds and the nymphs were seen
Pleading before the Cyprian Queen.
The counsel for the fair began
Accusing the false creature, man.
The Ring And The Book - Chapter XI - Guido
© Robert Browning
YOU ARE the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichitwo good Tuscan names:
Companions
© Robert Laurence Binyon
The bread that's broken when we eat together
Tastes sweet. A sunbeam stealing to your hand
Seems as if spilled from something brimming over
Within me, wanting no word, or itself
Hymns From The French Of Lamartine
© John Greenleaf Whittier
I.
"Encore un hymne, O ma lyre
Un hymn pour le Seigneur,
Un hymne dans mon delire,
Un hymne dans mon bonheur."
The Bush Fire
© Henry Lawson
Ah, better the thud of the deadly gun, and the crash of the bursting shell,
Than the terrible silence where drought is fought out there in the western hell;
And better the rattle of rifles near, or the thunder on deck at sea,
Than the soundmost hellish of all to hearof a fire where it should not be.
A Visit To Renelagh
© Robert Bloomfield
To Ranelagh, once in my life,
By good-natur'd force I was driv'n;
How the Melbourne Cup was Won
© Henry Kendall
In the beams of a beautiful day,
Made soft by a breeze from the sea,
The Christmas Of 1888
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Low in the east, against a white, cold dawn,
The black-lined silhouette of the woods was drawn,
And on a wintry waste
Of frosted streams and hillsides bare and brown,
Through thin cloud-films, a pallid ghost looked down,
The waning moon half-faced!
Distant View Of England From The Sea
© William Lisle Bowles
Yes! from mine eyes the tears unbidden start,
As thee, my country, and the long-lost sight
Lament Of A Mocking-Bird
© Frances Anne Kemble
Silence instead of thy sweet song, my bird,
Which through the darkness of my winter days
Warbling of summer sunshine still was heard;
Mute is thy song, and vacant is thy place.
King Volmer and Elsie
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Where, over heathen doom-rings and gray stones of the Horg,
In its little Christian city stands the church of Vordingborg,
In merry mood King Volmer sat, forgetful of his power,
As idle as the Goose of Gold that brooded on his tower.
The Emigrant
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
FAREWELL, ah, happy shades! ah, scenes belov'd,
Of infant sports and bright unclouded hours!
Where oft in childhood's happy days I rov'd,
Thro' forest-walks, and wild secluded bow'rs!
The Shepherd's Week : Thursday; or, The Spell
© John Gay
Hobnelia.
Hobnelia, seated in a dreary vale,
