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Young and Old

© Charles Kingsley

1 When all the world is young, lad,
2 And all the trees are green;
3 And every goose a swan, lad,
4 And every lass a queen;

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The Three Fishers

© Charles Kingsley

1 Three fishers went sailing away to the west,
2 Away to the west as the sun went down;
3 Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,
4 And the children stood watching them out of the town;

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The Sands of Dee

© Charles Kingsley

1 "O Mary, go and call the cattle home,
2 And call the cattle home,
3 And call the cattle home
4 Across the sands of Dee";
5 The western wind was wild and dank with foam,
6 And all alone went she.

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The Last Buccaneer

© Charles Kingsley

OH, England is a pleasant place for them that ’s rich and high;
But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I;
And such a port for mariners I ne’er shall see again,
As the pleasant Isle of Avès, beside the Spanish main.

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Oh! That We Two Were Maying

© Charles Kingsley

1 Oh! that we two were Maying
2 Down the stream of the soft spring breeze;
3 Like children with violets playing
4 In the shade of the whispering trees.

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Ode to the Northeast Wind

© Charles Kingsley

Welcome, wild Northeaster!
Shame it is to see
Odes to every zephyr;
Ne'er a verse to thee.

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While Gazing on the Moon's Light

© Thomas Moore

While gazing on the moon's light,
A moment from her smile I turn'd,
To look at orbs that, more bright,
In lone and distant glory burn'd.

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Fears And Scruples

© Robert Browning

Here's my case. Of old I used to love him.
  This same unseen friend, before I knew:
Dream there was none like him, none above him,--
  Wake to hope and trust my dream was true.

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When Cold in the Earth

© Thomas Moore

When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved,
Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then;
Or, if from their slumber the veil be removed,
Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again.

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We May Roam Through This World

© Thomas Moore

We may roam through this world, like a child at a feast,
Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest;
And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east,
We may order our wings and be off to the west:

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Though the Last Glimpse of Erin With Sorrow I See

© Thomas Moore

Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see,
Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me;
In exile thy bosom shall still be my home,
And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam.

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The Wandering Bard

© Thomas Moore

What life like that of the bard can be --
The wandering bard, who roams as free
As the mountain lark that o'er him sings,
And, like that lark a music brings,

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The Parallel

© Thomas Moore

Yes, sad one of Sion, if closely resembling,
In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd-up heart --
If drinking deep, deep, of the same "cup of trembling"
Could make us thy children, our parent thou art.

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Take Back the Virgin Page

© Thomas Moore

Written on Returning a Blank Book
Take back the virgin page,
White and unwritten still;
Some hand, more calm and sage,

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Sweet Innisfallen

© Thomas Moore

Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well,
May calm and sunshine long be thine!
How fair thou art let others tell --
To feel how fair shall long be mine.

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Sublime Was the Warning

© Thomas Moore

Sublime was the warning that liberty spoke,
And grand was the moment when Spaniards awoke
Into life and revenge from the conqueror's chain.
Oh, Liberty! let not this spirit have rest,

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Song of the Battle Eve

© Thomas Moore

(Time -- the Ninth Century)
To-morrow, comrade, we
On the battle-plain must be,
There to conquer, or both lie low!

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Song of Innisfail

© Thomas Moore

They came from a land beyond the sea,
And now o'er the western main
Set sail, in their good ships, gallantly,
From the sunny land of Spain.

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Sing -- Sing -- Music Was Given

© Thomas Moore

Sing -- sing -- Music was given
To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving;
Souls here, like planets in heaven,
By harmony's laws alone are kept moving.

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Shall the Harp Then Be Silent

© Thomas Moore

Shall the Harp then be silent, when he who first gave
To our country a name, is withdrawn from all eyes?
Shall a Minstrel of Erin stand mute by the grave
Where the first -- where the last of her Patriots lies?