Here's to the ladies, the good, young ladies;
But not too good, for the good die young,
And we want no dead ones.
And here's to the good old ladies,
But not too old, for we want no dyed ones.

If the quick spirits in your eye
Now languish and anon must die;
If every sweet and every grace
Must fly from that forsaken face;
Then, Celia, let us reap our joys
Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys.

Or if that golden fleece must grow
For ever free from agèd snow;
If those bright suns must know no shade,
Nor your fresh beauties ever fade;
Then fear not, Celia, to bestow
What, still being gather'd, still must grow.

Thus either Time his sickle brings
In vain, or else in vain his wings.

O! hast thou seen a vernal Morning bright
    Gem every bank and trembling leaf with dews,
    Tinging the green fields with her amber hues,
    Changing the leaden streams to lines of light?
Then seen dull Clouds, that shed untimely night,
    Roll envious on, and every ray suffuse,
    Till the chill'd Scenes their early beauty lose,
    And faint, and colourless, no more invite
The glistening gaze of Joy? - 'Twas emblem just
    Of my youth's sun, on which deep shadows fell,
    Spread from the PALL OF FRIENDS; and Grief's loud gust
Resistless, oft wou'd wasted tears compel:
    Yet let me hope, that on my darken'd days
    Science, and pious Trust, may shed pervading rays.

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy,
I was once a barefoot boy!
Prince thou art, the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye,
Outward sunshine, inward joy
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood’s painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor’s rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools,
Of the wild bee’s morning chase,

My forefathers gave me
My spirit's shaken flame,
The shape of hands, the beat of heart,
The letters of my name.

But it was my lovers,
And not my sleeping sires,
Who gave the flame its changeful
And iridescent fires;

As the driftwood burning
Learned its jewelled blaze
From the sea's blue splendor
Of colored nights and days.

Even this heavenly pair were unequally match'd when united:

Psyche grew older and wise, Amor remain'd still a child,

When thou shalt wander by that sweet light
    We used to gaze on so many an eve,
When love was new and hope was bright,
    Ere I could doubt or thou deceive--
Oh, then, remembering how swift went by
Those hours of transport, even thou may'st sigh.

Yes, proud one! even thy heart may own
    That love like ours was far too sweet
To be, like summer garments thrown
    Aside, when past the summer's heat;
And wish in vain to know again
Such days, such nights, as blest thee then.

In the "foursome" some would fain
    Find nepenthe for their woe;
Following through shine or rain
    Where the "greens" like satin show;
    But I vote such sport as "slow"
Find it rather glum and gruesome;
    With a little maid I know
I would play a quiet "twosome"!

In the "threesome," some maintain,
    Lies excitement's gayest glow,
Strife that mounts unto the brain
    Like the sparkling Veuve Clicquot;
    My opinion? Nay, not so!
Noon or eve or morning dewsome
    With a little maid I know
I would play a quiet "twosome"!

Bays of glory some would gain
    With grim "Bogey" for their foe;
(He's a bogey who's not slain
    Save one smite with canny blow!)
    Yet I hold this tame, and though
My refrain seems tr...

Unless I learn to ask no help
From any other soul but mine,
To seek no strength in waving reeds
Nor shade beneath a straggling pine;
Unless I learn to look at Grief
Unshrinking from her tear-blind eyes,
And take from Pleasure fearlessly
Whatever gifts will make me wise
Unless I learn these things on earth,
Why was I ever given birth?

Said Friar Yves: "God will bless
Saint Louis' other-worldliness.
Whatever the fate be, still I fare
To fight for the Holy Sepulcher.
If I survive, I shall return
With precious things from Palestine -
Gold for my purse, spices and wine,
Glory to wear among my kin.
Fame as a warrior I shall win.
But, otherwise, if I am slain
In Jesus' cause, my soul shall earn
Immortal life washed white from sin."

Said Friar Yves: "Come what will -
Riches and glory, death and woe -
At dawn to Palestine I go.
Whether I live or die, I gain
To fly the tepid good and ill
Of daily living in Champagne,
Where those who reach salvation lose
The treasures, raptures of the earth,
Captured, possessed, and made to serve
The gospel love of Jesus' birth,
Sa...

Miss Danae, when Fair and Young
(As Horace has divinely sung)
Could not be kept from Jove's Embrace
By Doors of Steel, and Walls of Brass.
The Reason of the Thing is clear;
Would Jove the naked Truth aver:
Cupid was with Him of the Party;
And show'd himself sincere and hearty:
For, give That Whipster but his Errand;
He takes my Lord Chief Justice' Warrant:
Dauntless as Death away He walks;
Breaks the Doors open; snaps the Locks;
Searches the Parlour, Chamber, Study;
Nor stops, 'till He has Culprit's Body.

Since This has been Authentick Truth,
By Age deliver'd down to Youth;
Tell us, mistaken Husband, tell us,
Why so Mysterious, why so Jealous?
Does the Restraint, the Bolt, the Bar
Make Us less Curious, Her less Fair?

The Spy, wh...

What's a poor lass like me to do,
'At langs for a hooam ov her own?
Aw'm a hale an bonny wench too,
An nubdy can say aw'm heigh-flown.
Aw want nawther riches nor style,
Just a gradely plain felly will do;
But aw'm waitin a varry long while
An ov sweethearts aw've getten but two.

But th' trubble's just this, - let me tell,
What aw want an will have if aw can,
To share wedded life wi' misel,
Is a man 'at's worth callin a man.
But Harry's as stiff as a stoop,
An Jack, onny lass wod annoy, -
Harry's nobbut a soft nin-com-poop,
An Jack's just a hobble-de-hoy.

If caarin at th' hob ov a neet,
Wi' a softheeaded twaddlin fooil;
Aw should order him aght o' mi seet,
Or be cooamin his yure wi' a stooil.
His wage, - what it wor, - couldn't b...

'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
All soft and still and fair;
The solemn hour of midnight
Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,

But most where trees are sending
Their breezy boughs on high,
Or stooping low are lending
A shelter from the sky.

And there in those wild bowers
A lovely form is laid;
Green grass and dew-steeped flowers
Wave gently round her head.

Sweet resting place! that long hath been
A boon Elysian 'mid the din
    Of city life, 'mid city smoke;
Where weary ones who toil and spin
Have turned aside as to an inn
    Whose swinging sign a welcome spoke;
Where misanthropes find medicine
In peals of laughter that begin
    With ancient, resurrected joke,
Or ready wit of harlequin;
Where children, free from discipline,
    Take on Diversion's easy yoke.

Fair oasis! to view aright
Its charming paths, its sloping height,
    Its beautiful and broad expanse,
Must one approach in witching night
When, like abodes of airy sprite
    Revealed unto the wondering glance,
O'erflooded with electric light
Than Luna's beams more dazzling bright,
    Illumined nooks the scene enhance;
Whi...

And do I then wonder that Julia deceives me,
    When surely there's nothing in nature more common?
She vows to be true, and while vowing she leaves me--
    And could I expect any more from a woman?

Oh, woman! your heart is a pitiful treasure;
    And Mahomet's doctrine was not too severe,
When he held that you were but materials of pleasure,
    And reason and thinking were out of your sphere.

By your heart, when the fond sighing lover can win it,
    He thinks that an age of anxiety's paid;
But, oh, while he's blest, let him die at the minute--
    If he live but a day, he'll be surely betrayed.

"Thy Will be done!"
Let all the worlds
Resound with that divinest prayer!
The joyous souls redeemed from ill
Know all the wonders of Thy Will;
    Heaven's highest bliss is surely this,--
    "Thy Will be done!    Thy Will be done!"

"Thy Will be done!"
Tis not Thy Will
That Sin or Sorrow rule the world.
Thy Will is Joy, and Hope, and Light;
Thy Will is All-Triumphant Right.
    And so, exultantly, we cry,--
    "Thy Will be done!    Thy Will be done!"

"Thy Will be done!"
It is Thy Will
That all Life's wrongs should be redressed;
That burdened souls their bonds should break;
That Earth of Heavenly Joys partake.
    And so, right wistfully, we cry,--
    "Thy Will be done!    Thy Will be done!"

"Thy Will be done!"
...

In darkness the loud sea makes moan;
And earth is shaken, and all evils creep
About her ways.
Oh, now to know you sleep!
Out of the whirling blinding moil, alone,
Out of the slow grim fight,
One thought to wing, to you, asleep,
In some cool room that's open to the night
Lying half-forward, breathing quietly,
One white hand on the white
Unrumpled sheet, and the ever-moving hair
Quiet and still at length! . . .

Your magic and your beauty and your strength,
Like hills at noon or sunlight on a tree,
Sleeping prevail in earth and air.

In the sweet gloom above the brown and white
Night benedictions hover; and the winds of night
Move gently round the room, and watch you there.
And through the dreadful hours
The trees and waters and the hill...

As some dusk mother shields from all alarms
    The tired child she gathers to her breast,
The brunette Night doth fold me in her arms,
    And hushes me to perfect peace and rest.
Her eyes of stars shine on me, and I hear
Her voice of winds low crooning on my ear.
O Night, O Night, how beautiful thou art!
Come, fold me closer to thy pulsing heart.

The day is full of gladness, and the light
    So beautifies the common outer things,
I only see with my external sight,
    And only hear the great world's voice which rings.
But silently from daylight and from din
The sweet Night draws me - whispers, "Look within!"
And looking, as one wakened from a dream,
I see what IS - no longer what doth seem.

The Night says, "Listen!" and upon my ear
    Reve...