Each year cometh with all his days,
Some are shadowed and some are bright;
He beckons us on until he stays
Kneeling with us 'neath Christmas night.

Kneeling under the stars that gem
The holy sky, o'er the humble place,
When the world's sweet Child of Bethlehem
Rested on Mary, full of grace.

Not only the Bethlehem in the East,
But altar Bethlehem everywhere,
When the ~Gloria~ of the first great feast
Rings forth its gladness on the air.

Each year seemeth loath to go,
And leave the joys of Christmas day;
In lands of sun and in lands of snow,
The year still longs awhile to stay.

A little while, 'tis hard to part
From this Christ blessed here below,
Old year! and in thy aged heart
I hear thee sing so sweet and low.

When Jessie comes with her soft breast,
And yields the golden keys,
Then is it as if God caress'd
Twin babes upon His knees,
Twin babes that, each to other press'd,
Just feel the Father's arms, wherewith they both are bless'd.

But when I think if we must part,
And all this personal dream be fled,
O then my heart! O then my useless heart!
Would God that thou wert dead,
A clod insensible to joys and ills,
A stone remote in some bleak gully of the hills!

One morn I looked across the way,
    And saw you fling your window wide
To welcome in the breath of May
    In breezes from the mountain-side,
And greet the sunlight's earliest ray
    With happy look and satisfied.

The pansies on your window-sill
    In terra cotta flowerpot,
Like royal gold and purple frill
    Upon the stony casement wrought,
Adorned your tasteful domicile
    And claimed your time and care and thought.

In cherry trees the robins sang
    Their sweetest carol to your ear,
And shouts of merry children rang
    Out on the dewy atmosphere,
But to my heart there came a pang
    That my salute you did not hear.

I envied then the favored breeze
    That dallied with your flowing hair,
Begrudged the songsters...

Just as the sun went bathing in a sea
Of liquid amber, flecked with caps of gold, I told
The sweet old story unto Geraldine, my Queen,
Who long hath made the whole of life for me.

But though she smiled upon me yesterday,
And heaven seemed near because she was so kind, I find
She held me but as one of many men; and then
Dismissed me in her proud, yet gracious way.

Ah, Geraldine! my lady of sweet arts,
There waits for thee not very far away, a day
When thou shalt waken out of tranquil sleep, and weep
Such bitter tears as spring from anguished hearts.

Thou shalt look in thy mirror with dismay
To find upon each feature of thy face, the trace
Of time, the lover who shall follow thee, and see
Thy rare youth slipping suddenly away.

So self-ass...

    Rhyme with its jingle still betrays
    The song that's meant for one alone.
    Dearest, I dedicate to you
    A little song without a rhyme.

    The most unpractised schoolboy knows
    That quiet kisses are the sweetest.
    Safe locked within my arms you lie,
    Let not a single sound betray us.

    Suppose your jealous mother came
    By chance this way and found us here...
    Be still, be still, and not a sound
    Shall give her warning that we love.

The man and the maid go side by side
With an interval of space between;
And his hands are awkward and want to hide,
She braves it out since she must be seen.

When some one passes he drops his head
Shading his face in his black felt hat,
While the hard girl hardens; nothing is said,
There is nothing to wonder or cavil at.

Alone on the open road again
With the mountain snows across the lake
Flushing the afternoon, they are uncomfortable,
The loneliness daunts them, their stiff throats ache.

And he sighs with relief when she parts from him;
Her proud head held in its black silk scarf
Gone under the archway, home, he can join
The men that lounge in a group on the wharf.

His evening is a flame of wine
Among the eager, cordial men.
...

        What was thine errand here?
Thy beauty was more exquisite than aught
        That from this marred earth
        Takes its imperfect birth;
It was a radiant, heavenly beauty, caught
        From some far higher sphere,
And though an angel now, thou still must bear
The lovely semblance that thou here didst wear.

        What was thine errand here?
Thy gentle thoughts, and holy, humble mind,
        With earthly creatures coarse,
        Held not discourse,
But with fine spirits, of some purer kind,
        Dwelt in communion dear;
And sure they speak to thee that language now,
Which thou wert wont to speak to us below.

        What was thine errand here?
To adorn anguish, and ennoble death,
        And make infirmity
        A...

Every season hath its pleasures;
    Spring may boast her flowery prime,
Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures
    Brighten Autumn's soberer time.
So Life's year begins and closes;
    Days tho' shortening still can shine;
What tho' youth gave love and roses,
    Age still leaves us friends and wine.

Phillis, when she might have caught me,
    All the Spring looked coy and shy,
Yet herself in Autumn sought me,
    When the flowers were all gone by.
Ah, too late;--she found her lover
    Calm and free beneath his vine,
Drinking to the Spring-time over,
    In his best autumnal wine.

Thus may we, as years are flying,
    To their flight our pleasures suit,
Nor regret the blossoms dying,
    While we still may taste the fruit,
Oh, whil...

"She was a phantom," &c.

In lone Glenartney's thickets lies couched the lordly stag,
The dreaming terrier's tail forgets its customary wag;
And plodding ploughmen's weary steps insensibly grow quicker,
As broadening casements light them on towards home, or home-brewed liquor.

It is (in fact) the evening - that pure and pleasant time,
When stars break into splendour, and poets into rhyme;
When in the glass of Memory the forms of loved ones shine -
And when, of course, Miss Goodchild's is prominent in mine.

Miss Goodchild! - Julia Goodchild! - how graciously you smiled
Upon my childish passion once, yourself a fair-haired child:
When I was (no doubt) profiting by Dr. Crabb's instruction,
And sent those streaky lollipops home for your fairy suction!

...

Here's to our Goddess, Liberty,
Idol of bronze and stone!
May she awake to life some day
And let her charms be known.

    We meet again beyond the barren past,
        Beyond the pride, the sorrows and the tears;
        And yearnings leave the strife and hate of years
    To flood our souls with perfect peace at last!
    Our hearts forget the wrong so deep and vast,
        The wounding words and all the cruel woe,
        Till joy is all our bounding bosoms know,
    And life is glad with happiness at last.

    Love, deathless and forgiving, crowns with bays
        The future and our hopes, as full of grace,
    As youth had fondly dreamed in other days,
        When first we knew how sweet was her embrace.
    God's endless purpose guides the feet of men;
    Beyond our pride we meet in love again!

It isn't 'at aw want to rooam
An leeav thi bi thisen:
For aw'm content enuff at hooam,
Aw'm net like other men.
But then ther's thee an childer three,
To care for an protect,
It's reight 'at yo should luk to me,
An wrang should aw neglect.

Aw'm growin older ivvery day,
My race is ommost run,
Time's growin varry precious, lass,
An lots remains undone.
If aw wor called away, maybe,
Tha'd find some other man,
But tha cannot find a father,
For them lads, - do th' best tha can.

Another husband might'nt prove
As kind as aw have been;
An wedded life's a weary thing,
When love's shut aght o'th' scene.
Aw know aw've faults, aw'll own a lot, -
But then, tha must agree,
Aw've allus kept a tender spot
Within mi heart for thee...

How is it that I am now so softly awakened,
My leaves shaken down with music?
Darling, I love you.
It is not your mouth, for I have known mouths before,
Though your mouth is more alive than roses,
Roses singing softly
To green leaves after rain.
It is not your eyes, for I have dived often in eyes,
Though your eyes, even in the yellow glare of footlights,
Are windows into eternal dusk.
Nor is it the live white flashing of your feet,
Nor your gay hands, catching at motes in the spotlight;
Nor the abrupt thick music of your laughter,
When, against the hideous backdrop,
With all its crudities brilliantly lighted,
Suddenly you catch sight of your alarming shadow,
Whirling and contracting.
How is it, then, that I am so keenly aware,
So sensitive to the sur...

Tell me, thou grotto! o'er whose brow are seen
Projecting plumes, and shades of deep'ning green, -
While not a sound disturbs thy stony hall,
While all thy dewy drops forget to fall, -
Why canst thou not thy soothing charms impart,
And shed thy quiet o'er this beating heart?
Tell me, thou richly-painted river! tell,
That on thy mirror'd plane dost mimic well
Each pendent tree and every distant hill,
Tipp'd with red lustre, beauteous, bright, and still, -

Can I not, gazing on thy tranquil tide,
Shed ev'ry grief upon thy rocky side?
Or must I rove thy margin, calm and clear,
The only agitated object near?
Oh! tell me, too, thou babbling cold cascade!
Whose waters, falling thro' successive shade,
Unspangled by the brightness of the sky,
Awake each echo...

Mistress Moore is Johnny's wife,
An Johnny is a druffen sot;
He spends th' best portion of his life
Ith' beershop wi a pipe an pot.
At schooil together John an me
Set side by side like trusty chums,
An nivver did we disagree
Till furst we met sweet Lizzy Lumbs.
At John shoo smiled,
An aw wor riled;
Shoo showed shoo loved him moor nor me;
Her bonny e'en
Aw've seldom seen
Sin that sad day shoo slighted me.

Aw've heeard fowk say shoo has to want,
For Johnny ofttimes gets oth' spree;
He spends his wages in a rant,
An leeaves his wife to pine or dee.
An monny a time awve ligged i' bed,
An cursed my fate for bein poor,
An monny a bitter tear awve shed,
When thinkin ov sweet Mistress Moore.
For shoo's mi life
Is Johnny's wife,...

    Would you be glad of heart and good?
    Would you forget life's toil and care?
    Come, lose yourself in this old wood
    When May's soft touch is everywhere.

    The hawthorn trees are white as snow,
    The basswood flaunts its feathery sprays,
    The willows kiss the stream below
    And listen to its flatteries:

    "O willows supple, yellow, green,
    Long have I flowed o'er stock and stone,
    I say with truth I have not seen
    A rarer beauty than your own!"

    The rough-bark hickory, elm, and beech
    With quick'ning thrill and growth are rife;
    Oak, maple, through the heart of each
    There runs a glorious tide of life.

    Fresh leaves, young buds on every hand,
    On trunk and limb a hint of red,
 ...

Oh, I am grown so free from care
    Since my heart broke!
I set my throat against the air,
    I laugh at simple folk!

There's little kind and little fair
    Is worth its weight in smoke
To me, that's grown so free from care
    Since my heart broke!

Lass, if to sleep you would repair
    As peaceful as you woke,
Best not besiege your lover there
    For just the words he spoke
To me, that's grown so free from care
    Since my heart broke!

Dear love, let this my song fly to you:
Perchance forget it came from me.
It shall not vex you, shall not woo you;
But in your breast lie quietly.

Only beware, when once it tarries
I cannot coax it from you, then.
This little song my whole heart carries,
And ne'er will bear it back again.

For if its silent passion grieve you,
My heart would then too heavy grow; -
And it can never, never leave you,
If joy of yours must with it go!