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In a Minor Key
© Amy Levy
That was love that I had before
Years ago, when my heart was young;
Ev'ry smile was a gem you wore;
Ev'ry word was a sweet song sung.
The Moon-Raker
© William Henry Ogilvie
That discovers him next day.
And may I be there to follow
When that rover leads the way !
The Desert Wind
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
I went with happy heart (how happy!) a while since
Behind my camel flocks,
Piping all day where the Nile pastures end
And the white sand begins
Lionel And Lucille
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
I.
IN the beautiful Castleton Island a mansion of lordly style,
Embowered in gardens and lawns, looks over the glimmering bay.
In the light of a morning in summer, with stately beauty and pride,
To The Cuckoo
© William Wordsworth
O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice.
O Cuckoo! Shall I call thee Bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?
I-Juca Pirama
© Antônio Gonçalves Dias
No meio das tabas de amenos verdores,
Cercadas de troncos cobertos de flores,
Alteiam-se os tetos daltiva nação;
São muitos seus filhos, nos ânimos fortes,
Temíveis na guerra, que em densas coortes
Assombram das matas a imensa extensão.
Dedication - Songs of Labor
© John Greenleaf Whittier
I WOULD the gift I offer here
Might graces from thy favor take,
The Welcome
© Abraham Cowley
Go, let the fatted calf be kill'd;
My prodigal's come home at last,
With noble resolutions fill'd,
And fill'd with sorrow for the past:
No more will burn with love or wine;
But quite has left his women and his swine.
Come Home!
© Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
When wintry winds are no more heard,
And joy's in every bosom,
When summer sings in every bird,
And shines in every blossom,
When happy twilight hours are long,
Come home, my love, and think no wrong!
He Has Lived In Many Houses
© Thomas Lux
furnished rooms, flats, a hayloft,
a tent, motels, under a table,
under an overturned rowboat, in a villa (briefly) but not,
as yet, a yurt. In these places
A Voice From The Factories
© Caroline Norton
WHEN fallen man from Paradise was driven,
Forth to a world of labour, death, and care;
Still, of his native Eden, bounteous Heaven
Resolved one brief memorial to spare,
The Song Of The Derelict
© John McCrae
Ye have sung me your songs, ye have chanted your rimes
(I scorn your beguiling, O sea!)
Ye fondle me now, but to strike me betimes.
(A treacherous lover, the sea!)
On The Death Of Rebecca
© George Moses Horton
Thou delicate blossom; thy short race is ended,
Thou sample of virtue and prize of the brave!
No more are thy beauties by mortals attended,
They now are but food for the worms and the grave.
The Hope Of My Heart
© John McCrae
I left, to earth, a little maiden fair,
With locks of gold, and eyes that shamed the light;
I prayed that God might have her in His care
And sight.
The Harvest Of The Sea
© John McCrae
The earth grows white with harvest; all day long
The sickles gleam, until the darkness weaves
Her web of silence o'er the thankful song
Of reapers bringing home the golden sheaves.
But the Greatest of These is Charity
© George Essex Evans
Give: we are pawns upon the board;
We see not how Fates dice are thrown.
The life swung by a trembling cord
Might be your own.
