No Master
Indeed this is the sweet life! my hand Is under no proud man’s command; There is no voice to break my rest Before a bird has left its nest; There is no man to
Money
When I had money, money, O! I knew no joy till I went poor; For many a false man as a friend Came knocking all day at my door. Then felt I like a
Leisure
What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows. No time to
Rich Days
Welcome to you rich Autumn days, Ere comes the cold, leaf-picking wind; When golden stocks are seen in fields, All standing arm-in-arm entwined; And gallons of sweet cider seen On trees in apples red
The Hermit
WHAT moves that lonely man is not the boom Of waves that break agains the cliff so strong; Nor roar of thunder, when that travelling voice Is caught by rocks that carry far along.
The Villain
While joy gave clouds the light of stars, That beamed wher’er they looked; And calves and lambs had tottering knees, Excited, while they sucked; While every bird enjoyed his song, Without one thought of
The Bird of Paradise
Here comes Kate Summers, who, for gold, Takes any man to bed: “You knew my friend, Nell Barnes,” she said; “You knew Nell Barnes she’s dead. “Nell Barnes was bad on all you men,
In the Country
This life is sweetest; in this wood I hear no children cry for food; I see no woman, white with care; No man, with muscled wasting here. No doubt it is a selfish thing
Thunderstorms
My mind has thunderstorms, That brood for heavy hours: Until they rain me words, My thoughts are drooping flowers And sulking, silent birds. Yet come, dark thunderstorms, And brood your heavy hours; For when
All in June
A week ago I had a fire To warm my feet, my hands and face; Cold winds, that never make a friend, Crept in and out of every place. Today the fields are rich
Ale
Now do I hear thee weep and groan, Who hath a comrade sunk at sea? Then quaff thee of my good old ale, And it will raise him up for thee; Thoul’t think as
The Flood
I thought my true love slept; Behind her chair I crept And pulled out a long pin; The golden flood came out, She shook it all about, With both our faces in. Ah! little
The Boy
Go, little boy, Fill thee with joy; For Time gives thee Unlicensed hours, To run in fields, And roll in flowers. A little boy Can life enjoy; If but to see The horses pass,
Rich or Poor
With thy true love I have more wealth Than Charon’s piled-up bank doth hold; Where he makes kings lay down their crowns And life-long misers leave their gold. Without thy love I’ve no more
Nell Barnes
They lived apart for three long years, Bill Barnes and Nell his wife; He took his joy from other girls, She led a wicked life. Yet ofttimes she would pass his shop, With some