She dried her tears and they did s… To see her cheeks’ returning glow How little dreaming all the while That full heart throbbed to overfl… With that sweet look and lively to…

How clear she shines! How quietly I lie beneath her guardian light; While heaven and earth are whisper… “ Tomorrow, wake, but, dream to—ni… Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love!

Oh, for the time when I shall sle… Without identity, And never care how rain may steep, Or snow may cover me! No promised heaven these wild desi…

'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight, All soft and still and fair; The solemn hour of midnight Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere… But most where trees are sending

Come, the wind may never again Blow as now it blows for us; And the stars may never again shin… Long before October returns, Seas of blood will have parted us;

Death! that struck when I was mos… In my certain faith of joy to be — Strike again, Time’s withered bra… From the fresh root of Eternity! Leaves, upon Time’s branch, were…

Cold in the earth—and the deep sno… Far, far removed, cold in the drea… Have I forgot, my only Love, to l… Severed at last by Time’s all—sev… Now, when alone, do my thoughts no…

The winter wind is loud and wild, Come close to me, my darling child… Forsake thy books, and mateless pl… And, while the night is gathering… We’ll talk its pensive hours away;…

Love is like the wild rose-briar, Friendship like the holly-tree— The holly is dark when the rose—br… But which will bloom most constant… The wild rose-briar is sweet in sp…

Me thinks this heart should rest a… So stilly round the evening falls The veiled sun sheds no parting sm… Nor mirth nor music wakes my Hall… I have sat lonely all the day

Silent is the house: all are laid… One alone looks out o’er the snow-… Watching every cloud, dreading eve… That whirls the wildering drift, a… Cheerful is the hearth, soft the m…

The moon is full this winter night… The stars are clear, though few; And every window glistens bright, With leaves of frozen dew. The sweet moon through your lattic…

Mild the mist upon the hill Telling not of storms tomorrow; No, the day has wept its fill, Spent its store of silent sorrow. O, I’m gone back to the days of y…