#AmericanWriters
Be ye happy, if ye may, In the years that pass away. Ye shall pass and be forgot, And your place shall know you not. Other generations rise,
If a pleasant lawn there grow By the showers caressed, Where in all the seasons blow Flowers gaily dressed, Where by handfuls one may win
This is the time when larks are si… And higher still ascending and mor… This is the time when many a fleec… Runs lamb-like on the pastures of… This is the time when most I love…
Sleep flies me like a lover Too eagerly pursued, Or like a bird to cover Within some distant wood, Where thickest boughs roof over
Short space shall be hereafter Ere April brings the hour Of weeping and of laughter, Of sunshine and of shower, Of groaning and of gladness,
Hurrah for the Science Club! Join it, ye fourth year men; Join it, thou smooth-cheeked scrub… Whose years scarce number ten Join it, divines most grave;
Ever to be the best. To lead In whatsoever things are true; Not stand among the halting crew The faint of heart, the feeble-kne… Who tarry for a certain sign
How many the troubles that wait On mortals!'especially those Who endeavour in eloquent prose To expound their views, and orate. Did you ever attempt to speak
I made a truce last night with So… The queen of tears, the foe of sle… To keep her tents until the morrow… Nor send such dreams to make me we… Before the lusty day was springing…
My Lady of all ladies! Queen by r… Of tender beauty; full of gentle m… With eyes that look divine beatitu… Large eyes illumined with her spir… Lips that are lovely both by sound…
As I, with hopeless love o’erthro… With love o’erthrown, with love o’… And this is truth I tell, As I, with hopeless love o’erthro… Was sadly walking all alone,
Artemis! thou fairest Of the maids that be In divine Olympus, Hail! Hail to thee! To thee I bring this woven weed
This morning, while we sat in talk Of spring and apple-bloom, Lo! Death stood in the garden wal… And peered into the room. Your back was turned, you did not…
Familiar with thy melody, We go debating of its power, As churls, who hear it hour by hou… Contemn the skylark’s minstrelsy - As shepherds on a Highland lea
Song is not dead, although to-day Men tell us everything is said. There yet is something left to say… Song is not dead. While still the evening sky is red…