``An evil spirit lieth on our King!''
So went the wailful tale up Israel,
From Gilgal unto Gibeah; town and camp
Caught the sad fame that spread like pestilence,

If the health and the strength, and the pure vital breath
Of old England, at last must be doctor'd to death,
Oh! why must we die of one doctor alone?
And why must that doctor be just such a one
As Doctor Henry Addington?

The Meeting

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

SHE flitted by me on the stair--

A moment since I knew not of her.

Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XVII

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

I touched that knee. She did not show surprise,
And the earth had not opened at our feet.
She did not even laugh. Her foolish eyes
Twinkled a moment in her cheeks, then set

Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Student's Tale; The Cobbler of Hagenau

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Outside his door, one afternoon,
This humble votary of the muse
Sat in the narrow strip of shade
By a projecting cornice made,
Mending the Burgomaster's shoes,
And singing a familiar tune:--

Le Flacon (The Perfume Flask)

© Charles Baudelaire

II est de forts parfums pour qui toute matière
Est poreuse. On dirait qu'ils pénètrent le verre.
En ouvrant un coffret venu de l'Orient
Dont la serrure grince et rechigne en criant,

Moments Indulgence

© Rabindranath Tagore

I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works

that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.

The Midnight Mass

THE light lay trembling in a silver bar
Along the western borders of the sky;
From out the shadowy dome a little star
Stole forth to keep its patient watch on high;
And night came down, with solemn, soft embrace,
On storied Brittany.

The End Of The Chapter

Ah, yes, the chapter ends to-day;
We even lay the book away;
But oh, how sweet the moments sped
Before the final page was read!

Broadcaster's Poem

© Alden Nowlan

I thought about places
the disc jockey's voice goes
and the things that happen there
and of how impossible it would be for him
to continue if he really knew.

Poem At The Centennial Anniversary Dinner Of The Massachusetts Medical Society

Each has his gifts, his losses and his gains,
Each his own share of pleasures and of pains;
No life-long aim with steadfast eye pursued
Finds a smooth pathway all with roses strewed;
Trouble belongs to man of woman born,--
Tread where he may, his foot will find its thorn.