O Nicias, not for us alone Was laughing Eros born, Nor shines alone for us the moon, Nor burns the ruddy morn; Alas! to-morrow lies not in the ke…

One asketh: “Tell me, Myrson, tell me true: What’s the season pleaseth you? Is it summer suits you best, When from harvest toil we rest?

The gods let slip that fiendish gr… Upon me last week Sunday— No fiercer storm than racked my fo… E’er swept the Bay of Fundy; But now, good-by

Oh, come with me to the Happy Isl… In the golden haze off yonder, Where the song of the sun-kissed b… And the ocean loves to wander. Fragrant the vines that mantle tho…

Hush, little one, and fold your ha… The sun hath set, the moon is high… The sea is singing to the sands, And wakeful posies are beguiled By many a fairy lullaby:

Whenas ye plaisaunt Aperille shou… Ye poysons and ye rheums of earth… Ye shraddy boscage of ye woods ben… Right merrilie a madrigal unto ye… Ye whiles that when ye face of ear…

SAILOR You, who have compassed land and s… Now all unburied lie; All vain your store of human lore, For you were doomed to die.

When thou dost eat from off this p… I charge thee be thou temperate; Unto thine elders at the board Do thou sweet reverence accord; And, though to dignity inclined,

In the market of Clare, so cheery… Of the shops and the booths of the… That I take a delight on a Saturd… In walking that way and in viewing… For it’s here that one sees all th…

The wind comes whispering to me of… Of redwing blackbirds chattering b… It brings me soothing fancies of t… And I hear the thrush’s evening s… So I fall to thinking tenderly of…

When I was a boy at college, Filling up with classic knowledge, Frequently I wondered why Old Professor Demas Bently Used to praise so eloquently

Over the hills and far away, A little boy steals from his morni… And under the blossoming apple-tre… He lies and he dreams of the thing… Of battles fought and of victories…

(LYRIC INTERMEZZO) There fell a star from realms abov… A glittering, glorious star to see… Methought it was the star of love, So sweetly it illumined me.

Last night, whiles that the curfew… I heard a moder to her dearie sing… “Lollyby, lolly, lollyby.” And presently that chylde did ceas… And on his moder’s breast did fall…

Play that you are mother dear, And play that papa is your beau; Play that we sit in the corner her… Just as we used to, long ago. Playing so, we lovers two