Feed on, my flocks, securely,
Your shepherd watcheth surely:
Run about, my little lambs,
Skip and wanton with your dams,
Your loving herd with care will tend ye.
Sport on, fair flocks, at pleasure,
Nip Vesta's flow'ring treasure;
I myself will duly hark,
When my watchful dog doth bark;
From wolf and fox I will defend ye.

a connotation of infinity
sharpens the temporal splendor of this night

when souls which have forgot frivolity
in lowliness, noting the fatal flight
of worlds whereto this earth's a huried dream

down eager avenues of lifelessness

consider for how much themselves shall gleam,
in the poised radiance of perpetualness.
When what's in velvet beyond doomed thought

is like a woman amorous to be known;
and man, whose here is always worse than naught,
feels the tremendous yonder for his own—

on such a night the sea through her blind miles

Hair , wax, rouge, honey, teeth, you buy,
A multifarious store!
A mask at once would all supply,
Nor would it cost you more.

Slow, through the twilight gloom, Valerio's knell
Swells in heart-rending peals along the gale:
It summons me to take my last farewell,
And with the mourners blend my feeling wail.

Gone is my only friend, my dearest mate,
With whom, a child, I prattled o'er the plain,
Or 'neath the village shade attentive sat,
And lisping conned, well pleased, the rural strain;

With whom I turned the classic volumes o'er,
And drew from Maro's verse a noble flame;
With whom in Alma's walls the palm I bore,
And keenly struggled for collegiate fame.

S ONGEANT à sa maison, grande parmi les grandes,
Plus grande qu'lñigo lur-même et qu'Abarca,
Le vieux Diego Laynez ne goûte plus aux viandes.

Il ne dort plus, depuis qu'un sang honteux marqua
La joue encore chaude où l'a frappé le Comte,
Et que pour se venger la force lui manqua.

Il craint que ses amis ne lui demandent compte,
Et ne veut pas, navré d'un vertueux ennui,
Leur laisser respirer l'haleine de sa honte.

Alors il fit querir et rangea devant lui
Les quatre rejetons de sa royalé branche,
Sanche, Alfonse, Manrique et le plus jeune, Ruy.

Fresh strowings allow
To my Sepulcher now,
To make my lodging the sweeter;
A staffe or a wand
Put then in my hand,
With a pennie to pay S. Peter.

Who has not a Crosse,
Must sit with the losse,
And no whit further must venture;
Since the Porter he
Will paid have his fee,
Or els not one there must enter.

Who at a dead lift,
Can't send for a gift
A Pig to the Priest for a Roster,
Shall heare his Clarke say,
By yea and by nay,
No pennie, no Pater Noster.

“It fell about the Martinmas,” as well as I remember it—
I think it was November; it was after Halloween—
And I sprang up from dreaming, and in my midnight solitude
I found these words: they spoke themselves, to say what I had seen.

She came, so small and shivering: I wondered what had frightened her!
I tightened her in circling arms, and, oh, but she was chill—
She climbed at once to my embrace: I felt her shaken, quivering.
I heard the loud November gust that scoured the window sill.

When from the wars I do return,
And at a cup of good ale mourn,
I'll tell how towns without fire we did burn,
And is not that a wonder?

I'll tell how that my general
Entered the breach, and scaled the wall,
And made the foremost battery of all,
And is not that a wonder?

How that we went to take a fort,
And took it too in war-like sort,
I'll swear that a lie is a true report,
And is not that a wonder?

How that we soldiers have true pay,
And clothes, and victuals every day,
And never a captain ran away,
And is not that a wonder?

The great net
has been hauled in
close to shore—
how many living things
are tangled in its meshes?

Close on the bat-crossed hour
I waited for a flower
By light grown visible
Burning the vivid hill.

Pimpernel in night-bud
Showed like small drops of blood;
It was no common flower
I kept late vigil for.

I watched by falling light
Till I saw how with white
And patient petals shone
Night-flowering campion.

So white those petals showed
And such a rich scent flowed,
I said, ‘Are we not one,
I and this campion?’

Seeing how for us both
Sweetness followed on sloth
I felt my own song's power
In that night-flowering flower.