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Autonoë BALLAD Bard BEAU BROCADE beauty beneath beside bird blue Caliph CARDENIO Child CLAUDE TILLIER Cupid's Alley Cyclops dance dead dear DENISE Dolly doubt dreams E'en eyes face fair fancy fate flowers FRANK garden grace grow hair hand head hear heard heart hope jelick JOLICŒUR knew ladies of St LADY laughing light lips little Blue-Ribbons look Love Love's LYRE Madame maid Marquise Megalopolis MOLIÈRE Molly Trefusis Monsieur morning Muse naught night o'er old Sedan chair OMAR KHAYYÁM once pain passed Phyllida play POET poor praise PROCRIS pure song rhyme Rose round scarce seemed sing smile song soul Squire stirred strange surely sweet tale tears thee Theocritus THEOPHILE GAUTIER There's thing thou thought thrush to-day truth turn Twas twixt verse wait watch weary wind-flowers wonder words young youth
210 psl. - Wear satin on their backs; They sit all night at Ombre, With candles all of wax: But Phyllida, my Phyllida! She dons her russet gown, And runs to gather May dew Before the world is down.
218 psl. - And a pinch from the Cure's box. There is also a word that no one heard To the furrier's daughter Lou ; And a pale cheek fed with a flickering red, And a "Bon Dieu garde M'sieu!" But a grander way for the Sous-Prefet, And a bow for Ma'amselle Anne, And a mock "off-hat" to the Notary's cat, And a nod to the Sacristan.
148 psl. - HERE in this leafy place Quiet he lies, Cold, with his sightless face Turned to the skies 'Tis but another dead; All you can say is said. Carry his body hence, Kings must have slaves; Kings climb to eminence Over men's graves: So this man's eye is dim; Throw the earth over him.
316 psl. - Blest! but more blest, whom Summer's heat, Whom Spring's impulsive stir and beat, Have taught no feverish lure; Whose Muse, benignant and serene, Still keeps his Autumn chaplet green Because his verse is pure! Lie calm, O white and laureate head! Lie calm, O Dead, that art not dead, Since from the voiceless grave, Thy voice shall speak to old and young While song yet speaks an English tongue By Charles' or Thamis
146 psl. - HE had played for his lordship's levee, He had played for her ladyship's whim, Till the poor little head was heavy, And the poor little brain would swim. And the face grew peaked and eerie, And the large eyes strange and bright, And they said too late " He is weary ! He shall rest for, at least, To-night...
4 psl. - So trim it was. The yew-trees still, With pious care perverted, Grew in the same grim shapes ; and still The lipless dolphin spurted ; Still in his wonted state abode The broken-nosed Apollo ; And still the cypress-arbour showed The same umbrageous hollow.
97 psl. - read " three hours. Both notes and text Were fast a mist becoming ; In bounced a vagrant bee, perplexed, And filled the room with humming, Then out. The casement's leafage sways, And, parted light, discloses Miss Di., with hat and book, a maze Of muslin mixed with roses. " You're reading Greek?" " I am and you?" " O, mine's a mere romancer ! "
161 psl. - A SONG OF THE FOUR SEASONS. WHEN Spring comes laughing By vale and hill, By wind-flower walking And daffodil, Sing stars of morning, Sing morning skies, Sing blue of speedwell, And my Love's eyes. When comes the Summer, Full-leaved and strong, And gay birds gossip The orchard long, Sing hid, sweet honey That no bee sips ; Sing red, red roses, And my Love's lips.
493 psl. - No. For while yet in tower or cot Your story stirs the pulses' play ; And men forget the sordid lot The sordid care, of cities gray ; While yet, beset in homelier fray, They learn from you the lesson plain That Life may go, so Honour stay, The deeds you wrought are not in vain ! ENVOY.
7 psl. - You had no thought or presage Into what keeping you dismissed Your simple old-world message! A reverent one. Though we to-day Distrust beliefs and powers, The artless, ageless things you say Are fresh as May's own flowers, Starring some pure primeval spring, Ere Gold had grown despotic, Ere Life was yet a selfish thing, Or Love a mere exotic!