WHEN I am only fit to go to bed,
Or hobble out to sit within the sun,
Ring down the curtain, say the play is done,
And the last petals of the poppy shed!

Song

© William Shenstone

I told my nymph, I told her true,
My fields were small, my flocks were few,
While faltering accents spoke my fear,
That Flavia might not prove sincere.

The Georgics

© Virgil

GEORGIC I

What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star

Plaint Of The Missouri 'Coon In The Berlin Zoological Gardens

© Eugene Field

Friend, by the way you hump yourself you're from the States, I know,

And born in old Mizzourah, where the 'coons in plenty grow;

To The Moon Of The South

© Richard Monckton Milnes

Let him go down,--the gallant Sun!
His work is nobly done;
Well may He now absorb
Within his solid orb

from Lalla Rookh

© Thomas Moore

From The Fire-worshippers

“How sweetly,” said the trembling maid,

Farewell to Matilda

Oui, pour jamais
Chassons l’image
De la volage
Que j’adorais. PARNY.

What Is Flirtation?

What is flirtation? Really,
How can I tell you that?
But when she smiles I see its wiles,
And when he lifts his hat.

Save that mild murmurings sounding vague and far,
From suppliant women--through frail-hearted dread
Touched the shy pulses of that strange repose,
Till the last petal dropped from sunset's rose,
And gleamed through twilight, like a flawless star,
The chastened glory of proud Hera's head!

Thunder In The Garden

When the boughs of the garden hang heavy with rain
And the blackbird reneweth his song,
And the thunder departing yet rolleth again,
I remember the ending of wrong.

The House of Life: 97. A Superscription

Mark me, how still I am! But should there dart
One moment through thy soul the soft surprise
Of that wing'd Peace which lulls the breath of sighs,—
Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart
Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart
Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes.