WHEN we are dead I firmly do believe
We shall slip back into the primal sea
Of the universal life, that there shall be
...
POET! thou art to me a faery king
Dwelling in some weird place of witchery,
Some garden where unnumbered roses vie
...
GONE art thou, then, O mystical musician!
Pure-thoughted singer of these sinful years!
No more shall dreams and doubts and hopes and fears
...
ALL too grotesque our thoughts are sometimes. Odd,
That there will come a day when you and I
Shall not be you and I! that we shall lie-
...
What painter has not with a careless smutch
Accomplished his despair?-one touch revealing
All he had put of life, thought, vigor, feeling,
...
Ho, a song by the fire;
Pass the pipes, pass the bowl.
Ho, a song by the fire
With a skoal, with a skoal.
...
Oh, who would stay indoor, indoor,
When the horn is on the hill? (Bugle: Tarantara!
With the crisp air stinging, and the huntsmen singing,
...
(A.H. Quint)
MOURN we who honored him but knew him not;
Grieve ye who loved him, looking on his face;
...
The dawn is lonely for the sun,
And chill and drear;
The one lone star is pale and wan
As one in fear.
...
THESE college days of jollity and mirth
How pleasurable are they and how serene,
...