Collected Poems

To you I sing, whom towns immure,
And bonds of toil hold fast and sure ;—
To you across whose aching sight
Come woodlands bathed in April light,
And dreams of pastime premature.

And you, O Sad, who still endure
Some wound that only Time can cure,—
To you, in watches of the night,-
To you I sing!

But most to you with eyelids pure,
Scarce witting yet of love or lure ;-
To you, with bird-like glances bright,
Half-paused to speak, half-poised in flight ;--
O English Girl, divine, demure,

Το του I singl

“le ne puis tenir registre de ma vie par mes actions; fortune les met trop bas: ie le tiens par mes fantasies."

-MONTAIGNE.

Too low my lot for lofty deed:
I pipe but fancies on a reed.

CONTENTS

OLD-WORLD IDYLLS :-

A Dead Letter

A Gentleman of the Old School

A Gentlewoman of the Old School.

The Ballad of "Beau Brocade "

Une Marquise

The Story of Rosina