Collected Poems

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K. Paul, Trench, Trübner & Company, Limited, 1913 - 678 psl.

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488 psl. - Picture above, if you can, Eyes that could melt as the dew, — This was the Pompadour's fan! See how they rise at the sight, Thronging the...
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
95 psl. - If I were you! Frank. If I were you, who vow you cannot suffer Whiff of the best, — the mildest honey-dew, I would not dance with smoke-consuming Puffer, If I were you! Nellie. If I were you, I would not, sir, be bitter, Even to write the "Cynical Review"! Frank. No, I should doubtless find flirtation fitter, If I were you! Nellie.
217 psl. - Cure down the street Comes with his kind old face — With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair, And his green umbrella-case. You may see him pass by the little "Grande Place," And the tiny
482 psl. - Like a bud ere it blows, You just peeped at the sky, When I saw you last, Rose! Now your petals unclose, Now your May-time is nigh; — How fast the time goes! And a life, — how it grows! You were scarcely so shy, When I saw you last, Rose!
94 psl. - TFI were you, when ladies at the play, sir, Beckon and nod, a melodrama through, I would not turn abstractedly away, sir, If I were you ! FRANK. If I were you, when persons I affected, Wait for three hours to take me down to Kew, I would, at least, pretend I recollected, If I were you ! NELLIE. If I were you, when ladies are so lavish, Sir, as to keep me every waltz but two, I would not dance with odious Miss M'Tavish If I were you I FRANK. If I were you, who vow you cannot suffer Whiff of the best,...
486 psl. - Damosels — Dames, be piteous ! " (But the dames rode fast by the roadway trees.) " Hear us, O Knights magnanimous ! " (But the knights pricked on in their panoplies.) Nothing they gat or of hope or ease, But only to beat on the breast and say : — " Life we drank to the dregs and lees ; Give us — ah ! give us — but Yesterday !
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.
484 psl. - SINGER of the field and fold, THEOCRITUS ! Pan's pipe was thine, • Thine was the happier Age of Gold. For thee the scent of new-turned mould, The bee-hives, and the murmuring pine, O Singer of the field and fold ! Thou sang'st the simple feasts of old, — The beechen bowl made glad with wine Thine was the happier Age of Gold.
569 psl. - Fame is a food that dead men eat, — I have no stomach for such meat. In little light and narrow room, They eat it in the silent tomb, With no kind voice of comrade near To bid the banquet be of cheer.

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