Christ God who savest man, save m… Of men Count Gismond who saved me… Count Gauthier, when he chose his… Chose time and place and company To suit it; when he struck at leng…

PIANO DI SORRENTO Fort, Fort, my beloved one, Sit here by my side, On my knees put up both little fee… I was sure, if I tried,

HEAP cassia, sandal-buds and str… Of labdanum, and aloe-balls, Smear’d with dull nard an Indian… From out her hair: such balsam fal… Down sea-side mountain pedestals,

“Why?” Because all I haply can an… All that I am now, all I hope to… Whence comes it save from fortune… Body and soul the purpose to pursu… God traced for both? If fetters,…

Nay but you, who do not love her, Is she not pure gold, my mistress? Holds earth aught—speak truth—abov… Aught like this tress, see, and th… And this last fairest tress of all…

WOE, he went galloping into the w… Clara, Clara! Let us two dream: shall he ’scape… Scarcely disfigurement, rather a g… Making for manhood which nowise we…

Let us begin and carry up this cor… Singing together. Leave we the common crofts, the vu… Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the…

OUT of the little chapel I burst Into the fresh night air again. I had waited a good five minutes f… In the doorway, to escape the rain That drove in gusts down the commo…

If one could have that little head… Painted upon a background of pale… Such as the Tuscan’s early art pr… No shade encroaching on the matchl… Of those two lips, which should be…

Boot, saddle, to horse and away! Rescue my Castle, before the hot… Brightens to blue from its silvery… (Chorus) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

Where the quiet—coloured end of ev… Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our… Half—asleep Tinkle homeward thro’ the twilight…

PREADMONISHETH THE A… The Lord, we look to once for all… Is the Lord we should look at, al… He knows not to vary, saith Saint… Nor the shadow of turning, for the…

Fear death?—to feel the fog in my… The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blas… I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press…

AN OLD STORY. It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like… The house-roofs seemed to heave an… The church-spires flamed, such fla…