TITYRUS.
O Meliboeus, a god for us this leisure created,
For he will be unto me a god forever; his altar
Oftentimes shall imbue a tender lamb from our sheepfolds.
He, my heifers to wander at large, and myself, as thou seest,
On my rustic reed to play what I will, hath permitted.

Epigram - Frank Carves Very Ill

© Matthew Prior

Frank carves very ill, yet will palm all the meats;

He eats more than six, and drinks more than he eats.

Of The Death Of Sir Thomas Wyatt The Elder

© Henry Howard

Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest;
Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain,
And virtue sank the deeper in his breast;
Such profit he by envy could obtain.

A Song

© Virna Sheard

Love maketh its own summer time,
'Tis June, Love, when we are together,
And little I care for the frost in the air,
For the heart makes its own summer weather.

Songs with Preludes: Friendship

© Jean Ingelow

Beautiful eyes,—and shall I see no more
The living thought when it would leap from them,
And play in all its sweetness ’neath their lids?

I Saw A New World

© William Brighty Rands

I SAW a new world in my dream,

Where all the folks alike did seem:

The Borrowed Axe

© John Newton

The prophets sons, in time of old,
Though to appearance poor;
Were rich without possessing gold,
And honoured, though obscure.

An Evening Thought

Salvation comes by Jesus Christ alone,

The only Son of God;

The Horologe Of The Fields

Addressed to a Young Lady, on seeing at the House of an

Acquaintance a magnificent French Timepiece.

The Ballad of Minepit Shaw

About the time that taverns shut
And men can buy no beer,
Two lads went up to the keepers' hut
To steal Lord Pelham's deer.

The Resting-Place

Calmly the Paschal moonlight now is sleeping
On mossy hillock and on headstone grey,
Where still our Mother holds in faithful keeping
Such as, while living, in her dear arms lay.
Ah! loving and beloved, we know ye rest,
E'en in the grave, upon her hallow'd breast.

© Julian Tuwim

I roast in the sun, old wretch…

I lie, and yawn, I stretch.

Gladys And Her Island

© Jean Ingelow

“Ah, well, but I am here; but I have seen
The gay gorse bushes in their flowering time;
I know the scent of bean-fields; I have heard
The satisfying murmur of the main.”