Our hope is less to last through Art than deeper searching of the…

In the season of white wild roses We two went hand in hand: But now in the ruddy autumn Together already we stand.

Time's corrosive dewdrop eats The giant warrior to a crust Of earth in earth and rust in rust.

The azure lake is argent now Beneath the pale moonshine: I seek a sign of hope in heaven: Fair Polestar! thou are mine. A thousand other beacons blaze; I follow thee alone...

This little Collection differs, it is believed, from others in the attempt made to include in it all the best original lyrical pieces and songs in our language, by writers not living, and none besides the best. The Editor will regard as …

When once the mind has raised itself to grasp and to delight in excellence, those who love most will be found to love most wisely.

Let the children play And sit like flowers upon thy grave And crown with flowers,—that hardly have A briefer blooming-tide than they.