#RhymedStanza
1 and 1 are 2 — That’s for me and you. 2 and 2 are 4 — That’s a couple more. 3 and 3 are 6
The days are clear, Day after day, When April’s here, That leads to May, And June
The hope I dreamed of was a dream… Was but a dream; and now I wake, Exceeding comfortless, and worn, a… For a dream’s sake. I hang my harp upon a tree,
Sleep, little Baby, sleep, The holy Angels love thee, And guard thy bed, and keep A blessed watch above thee. No spirit can come near
What would I give for a heart of… Instead of this heart of stone ice… Hard and cold and small, of all he… What would I give for words, if o… But now in its misery my spirit ha…
When a mounting skylark sings In the sunlit summer morn, I know that heaven is up on high, And on earth are fields of corn. But when a nightingale sings
I love and love not: Lord, it bre… To love and not to love. Thou veiled within Thy glory, gon… Into Thy shrine, which is above, Dost Thou not love me, Lord, or c…
I tell my secret? No indeed, not… Perhaps some day, who knows? But not today; it froze, and blows… And you’re too curious: fie! You want to hear it? well:
They made the chamber sweet with f… And the bed sweet with flowers on… While my soul, love—bound, loitere… I did not hear the birds about the… Nor hear the reapers talk among th…
In the bleak midwinter, frosty win… Earth stood hard as iron, water li… Snow had fallen, snow on snow, sno… In the bleak midwinter, long ago. Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him,…
Oh the rose of keenest thorn! One hidden summer morn Under the rose I was born. I do not guess his name Who wrought my Mother’s shame,
Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, love divine; Love was born at Christmas, Star and angels gave the sign. Worship we the Godhead,
Three little children On the wide wide earth, Motherless children— Cared for from their birth By tender angels.
I took my heart in my hand (O my love, O my love), I said: Let me fall or stand, Let me live or die, But this once hear me speak—
The lily has an air, And the snowdrop a grace, And the sweetpea a way, And the heartsease a face, — Yet there’s nothing like the rose