I know how it is with the daughter of Jephthah,
(O Ada, my love, and the fairest of women!)
She wails in the time when her heart is so zealous
For God who hath stricken the children of Ammon.

Simulacra

© Madison Julius Cawein

Dark in the west the sunset's somber wrack

Unrolled vast walls the rams of war had split,

The Portent

© Rudyard Kipling

Oh, late withdrawn from human-kind
And following dreams we never knew!
Varus, what dream has Fate assigned
To trouble you?

My Education

© James Kenneth Stephen

At school I sometimes read a book,
And learned a lot of lessons;
Some small amount of pains I took,
And showed much acquiescence

My song is of the Horseman who woke the world's unrest,
To slake a king's ambition or serve a maid's behest;
Who bore aloft, the love-gage and reaped the rich reward;
Who swayed the purple banner and swung the golden sword!

A Short Discourse on Eternity

© Michael Wigglesworth

Isa. 57:15
Mark. 3:29
Matt. 25:46

Youth In Memory

© George Meredith

Days, when the ball of our vision

Had eagles that flew unabashed to sun;

Advice To Lovers

© Robert Graves

I knew an old man at a Fair
Who made it his twice-yearly task
To clamber on a cider cask
And cry to all the yokels there:--

To One Who Pleaded For Candour In Love

© Edith Nesbit

HERE is the dim enchanted wood
Your face, a mystery divine,
But half revealed, half understood,
Appears the counterpart of mine.

Must Be Freed

The ante-bellum Negro prayed,
For God to intercede,
And God in answer to him said,
"Your children shall be freed."

The Dreamer

© Leon Gellert

He lay within a neat white-sheeted bed,

And stared at distance with his wide young eyes:-

The Crusader's Return

Rest pilgrim, rest!-thou'rt from the Syrian land,

Thou'rt from the wild and wondrous east, I know

Scherzo

When the down is on the chin
And the gold-gleam in the hair,
When the birds their sweethearts win
And champagne is in the air,
Love is here, and Love is there,
Love is welcome everywhere.

The Swamp

FOR one whole day and a long night through
We made our camp
In a she-oak grove by a coastal swamp.
Our tent gleamed white in the she-oak trees,

To The Beloved--A Lament

Beloved, thou art like a tune that idle fingers
Play on a window-pane.
The time is there, the form of music lingers;
But O thou sweetest strain,
Where is thy soul? Thou liest i' the wind and rain.