Rosalind at Red Gate

When first we met we did not guess That Love would prove so hard a master; Of more than common friendliness When first we met we did not guess-- Who could foretell this sore dis...

There was a man in our town, And he was wondrous wise, He jump'd into a bramble-bush, And scratch'd out both his eyes; But when he saw his eyes were out, With all his might and...

Up, up, my heart! Up, up, my heart, This day was made for thee! For soon the hawthorn spray shall part, And thou a face shalt see That comes, O heart, O foolish heart, This way...

She throws a kiss and bids me run, In whispers sweet as roses' breath; I know I can not win the race, And at the end I know is death.

The best composition and temperature is, to have openness in fame and opinion, secrecy in habit, dissimulation in seasonable use, and a power to feign, if there be no remedy.--_...

Patience or Prudence,--what you will, Some prefix faintly fragrant still As those old musky scents that fill Our grandmas' pillows; And for her youthful portrait take Some long-...

The primrose slips its jealous sheath,-- Then open wide that churlish blind, And kiss me through the ivy wreath! The night is still, the moon looks kind. --Edith M. Thomas.

Of course, in company with the rest of my fellow-men, I had always tied the sheet in a sailing-boat; but in so little and crank a concern as a canoe, and with these charging squ...

The twitter of swallows in the eaves wakened me to the first light of day, and after I had taken a dip in the creek I still seemed to be sole proprietor of the world, so quiet l...

As I rode through Port Annandale the lilting strains of a waltz floated from the casino, and I caught a glimpse of the lake's cincture of lights. My head was none too clear from...

Rosalind was cutting sweet peas in the garden where they climbed high upon a filmy net, humming softly to herself. She was culling out white ones, which somehow suggested her ow...

I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious;...

We are in love's land to-day; Where shall we go? Love, shall we start or stay, Or sail or row? There's many a wind and way, And never a May but May; We are in love's hand to-day...

We crossed the lake from the south and about nightfall came to the small island called Battle Orchard, which is so named by the American settlers from the peach, apple and other...

Still do the stars impart their light To those that travel in the night; Still time runs on, nor doth the hand Or shadow on the dial stand; The streams still glide and constant...

Gillespie was smoking his pipe on the boat-house steps. He had come over from the village in his own launch, which tossed placidly beside mine. Ijima stepped forward promptly wi...

The woodland silence, one time stirred By the soft pathos of some passing bird, Is not the same it was before. The spot where once, unseen, a flower Has held its fragile chalice...

I was meditating my course over a cheerless luncheon when Gillespie was announced. He lounged into the dining-room, drew his chair to the table and covered a biscuit with camemb...

And as I muse on Helen's face, Within the firelight's ruddy shine, Its beauty takes an olden grace Like hers whose fairness was divine; The dying embers leap, and lo! Troy waver...

As a bell in a chime Sets its twin-note a-ringing, As one poet's rhyme Wakes another to singing, So once she has smiled All your thoughts are beguiled, And flowers and song from...

Thou canst not wave thy staff in air, Or dip thy paddle in the lake, But it carves the bow of beauty there, And the ripples in rhymes the oar forsake. --_Emerson_.

My Lady's name, when I hear strangers use, Not meaning her, to me sounds lax misuse; I love none but my Lady's name; Maude, Grace, Rose, Marian, all the same, Are harsh, or blan...

Sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerabl...

At midnight Gillespie and I discussed the day's affairs on the terrace at Glenarm. There were long pauses in our talk. Such things as we had seen and heard that night, in the ca...

One year ago my path was green, My footstep light, my brow serene; Alas! and could it have been so One year ago? There is a love that is to last When the hot days of youth are p...