‘Ah dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily?
Sad, sad, to think that the year is but begun.’
Late in the autumn, on still and cloudless evenings,
Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing-
‘Ah that sweet March month, when we and our mates were courting merrily;
Sad, sad, to think that the year is all but done.’
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Thank God! Those gazers’ eyes are gone at last!
The lights are fading in the town below,Around the cottage which this morn was ours.Kind sun, to set, and leave us here alone;Alone upon our crosses with our God;While all the angels watch us from the stars.Kind moon, to shine so clear and full on him,And bathe his limbs in glory, for a signOf what…
How will it dawn, the coming Christmas Day?
And kinsfolk, shaking hands but once a year,And dames who tell old legends by the fire?Red sun, blue sky, white snow, and pearled ice,Keen ringing air, which sets the blood on fire,And makes the old man merry with the young,Through the short sunshine, through the longer night?Or southern Christmas, dark and dank with mist,And heavy…
Oh! I wish I were a tiny browny bird from out the south,
I would put my tiny tail down, and put up my tiny mouth,And sing my tiny life away in one melodious dream.I would sing about the blossoms, and the sunshine and the sky,And the tiny wife I mean to have in such a cosy nest;And if some one came and shot me dead, why then…
The boy on the famous gray pony,
Plucking up maiden heart for the fencesWhere his brother won honour of yore.The walk to ‘the Meet’ with fair children,And women as gentle as gay,-Ah! how do we male hogs in armourDeserve such companions as they?The afternoon’s wander to windward,To meet the dear boy coming back;And to catch, down the turns of the valley,The last…
There stood a low and ivied roof,
In times of chivalry and song‘Yclept the holy well.Above the ivies’ branchlets grayIn glistening clusters shone;While round the base the grass-blades brightAnd spiry foxglove sprung.The brambles clung in graceful bands,Chequering the old gray stoneWith shining leaflets, whose bright faceIn autumn’s tinting shone.Around the fountain’s eastern baseA babbling brooklet sped,With sleepy murmur purling softAdown its gravelly…
See the land, her Easter keeping,
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,Burst at last from winter snows.Earth with heaven above rejoices;Fields and gardens hail the spring;Shaughs and woodlands ring with voices,While the wild birds build and sing.You, to whom your Maker grantedPowers to those sweet birds unknown,Use the craft by God implanted;Use the reason not your own.Here, while heaven and earth…