And should the twilight darken int… And sorrow grow to anguish, be tho… Thou art in God, and nothing can… Which a fresh life-pulse cannot se… That thou dost know the darkness,…

What dost thou here, O soul, Beyond thy own control, Under the strange wild sky? 0 stars, reach down your hands, And clasp me in your silver bands,

If I were a monk, and thou wert a… Pacing it wearily, wearily, Twixt chapel and cell till day wer… Wearily, wearily– How would it fare with these heart…

Ray of the Dawn of Truth, Aubrey… Forgive my play fantastic with thy… Distilling its true essence by the… Which Love 'neath Fancy’s limbeck… I know not what thy semblance, wha…

A pale green sky is gleaming; The steely stars are few; The moorland pond is steaming A mist of gray and blue. Along the pathway lonely

A fresh young voice that sings to… So often many a simple thing, Should surely not unanswered be By all that I can sing. Dear voice, be happy every way

For years eighteen she, patient so… Her eyes had graveward sent; Her earthly life was lapt in dole, She was so bowed and bent. What words! To her? Who can be ne…

If thou art tempted by a thought o… Crave not too soon for victory, no… Thou art a coward if thy safety se… To spring too little from a righte… For there is nightmare on thee, no…

I am a bubble Upon thy ever-moving, resting sea: Oh, rest me now from tossing, tres… Take me down into thee. Give me thy peace.

‘Hear’st thou that sound upon the… Said the youth softly, as outstret… Where for an hour outstretched he… Softly, yet with some token of dis… Answered the maiden: ‘It is but t…

Prince Breacan of Denmark was lor… And lord of the billowy sea; Lord of the sea and lord of the la… He might have let maidens be! A maiden he met with locks of gold…

Whan Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed The lift was lowerin dreary, The sun he wadna raise his heid, The win’ blew laich and eerie. In’s pooch he had a plack or twa–

Forth to his study the sculptor go… In a mood of lofty mirth: ‘Now shall the tongues of my carpi… Confess what my art is worth! In my brain last night the vision…

From Schiller ‘Which of you, knight or squire, w… Plunge into yonder gulf? A golden beaker I fling in it-the… The black mouth swallows it like a…

Oh! is it Death that comes To have a foretaste of the whole? To-night the planets and the stars Will glimmer through my window-bar… But will not shine upon my soul!