On Mistress Nicely, a Pattern for Housekeepers
She was a woman peerless in her station, With household virtues wedded to her name; Spotless in linen, grass-bleached in her fame; And pure and clear-starched in her conversation; Thence in my Castle of
Tim Turpin
Tim Turpin he was gravel-blind, And ne’er had seen the skies : For Nature, when his head was made, Forgot to dot his eyes. So, like a Christmas pedagogue, Poor Tim was forced to
Time of Roses
It was not in the Winter Our loving lot was cast; It was the time of roses – We pluck’d them as we pass’d! That churlish season never frown’d On early lovers yet: O
The Death Bed
We watch’d her breathing thro’ the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. But when the morn came dim and sad And
Past and Present
I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon Nor bought too long a day;
No!
No sun no moon! No morn no noon! No dawn no dusk no proper time of day No sky no earthly view No distance looking blue No road no street no “t’other side this
The Sun Was Slumbering in the West
The sun was slumbering in the West, My daily labors past; On Anna’s soft and gentle breast My head reclined at last; The darkness closed around, so dear To fond congenial souls, And thus
Autumn
I Saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like Silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;-
Faithless Sally Brown
Young Ben he was a nice young man, A carpenter by trade; And he fell in love with Sally Brown, That was a lady’s maid. But as they fetch’d a walk one day, They
Silence
There is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be, In the cold grave-under the deep, deep sea, Or in wide desert where no life is