Tune: "San-fan Yü-lou Jen"

Wind disturbing the eave-chimes again.
Cloth at the window rustles with rain.
That empty pillow,
Cold counterpane
All tangled up with me,
I curse with fine particularity.
My emotions are confused and dim
But the darker thoughts are reserved for him!
Oh, wait until he comes back here,
Then won't I pick a fight!
And scratch his face!
And twist his ear!
" And where did you sleep all last night! "

A Morning-Piece; or, An Hymn for the Hay-Makers

Quinetiam Gallum noctem explaudentibus alis
Auroram clara consuetum voce vocare . L UCRET .

Brisk chaunticleer his mattins had begun,
  And broke the silence of the night,
 And thrice he call'd aloud the tardy sun,
  And thrice he hail'd the dawn's ambiguous light;
Back to their graves the fear-begotten phantoms run.
 Strong Labour got up.—With his pipe to his mouth,
  He stoutly strode over the dale,
 He lent new perfumes to the breath of the south,
  On his back hung his wallet and flail.

In the Southern Mode, to the Tune "A Sprig of Flowers" The Refusal to Get Old

I've plucked every flower that grows over the wall,
And gathered every willow overhanging the road;
The tenderest buds were the flowers I picked,
And the willows I gathered, of the supplest green fronds;
A wastrel, gay and dashing,
Trusting to my willow gathering, flower plucking hand,
I kept at it till the flowers fell and the willows withered;
Half my life I've been willow gathering and flower plucking
And for a whole generation slept with flowers and lain among the willows.

Vinegaroon

Bring your shears and clip him well,
His forked claws and his whipping tail,
Cut him out of his wicked shell
And leave him as clean as a flower-bell;
For he was disposed in a diagram
More intricate than the whited clam,
More scaly than the wooly lamb
And almost as evil as I am.

Bring Us In Good Ale

Bring us in good ale, and bring us in good ale;
For our blessed Lady sake bring us in good ale!

Bring us in no browne bred, for that is made of brane,
Nor bring us in no white bred, for therein is no gane,
But bring us in good ale!

Bring us in no befe, for there is many bones,
But bring us in good ale, for that goth downe at ones,
And bring us in good ale!

Bring us in no bacon, for that is passing fate,
But bring us in good ale, and gife us enough of that;
And bring us in good ale!

The Song of the Bath

Bring the biggest bath you've seen,
Water hot and towels clean,
Bring the soap that smells so sweetly;
Bring the nighties, folded neatly —
Bath time! Bath time! Hip hooray!
Jolliest time of all the day!

Bring the funny rubber toys,
Bring the little girls and boys;
Sticky fingers, grubby knees,
Rub them, scrub them, if you please.
Bath time! Bath time! Work away —
Busiest time of all the day.

Bring the grumbles and complainings,
Bring the little aches and painings,

Tennyson

(The Minster speaks)

Bring me my dead!
To me that have grown,
Stone laid upon stone,
As the stormy brood
Of English blood
Has waxed and spread
And filled the world,
With sails unfurled;
With men that may not lie;
With thoughts that cannot die.

Bring me my dead!
Into the storied hall,
Where I have garnered all
My harvest without weed;
My chosen fruits of goodly seed,
And lay him gently down among
The men of state, the men of song:
The men that would not suffer wrong:

Tune: "The Bodhisattva's Golden Headdress"

Past Yü-ku Tower glides the river Ch'ing —
Laden with tears shed by how many suffering wayfarers?
And I gaze northwest toward the lost capital,
To my dismay barred by countless intervening hills.

Futile for green hills to bar the way!
To the east the river ever freely flows.
But my heart is heavy as evening descends on the stream,
To hear partridges calling deep in the hills.

Tune: "Partridge Sky" For a Friend

Mulberries at the roadside break into bud,
The eggs of the east neighbor's silkworms are just hatching.
A brown calf on the smooth, grassy slope gives a contented low,
A sprinkling of dusky crows dot the chill wood in the slanting sun.

Hills far and near,
Footpaths crisscrossed between the fields,
And a wineshop with its blue pennon fluttering.
Spring is here with the shepherd's purse at the brookside,
While peach and plum in town are still assailed by wind and rain.

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