Ah woe is me, through all my days

Off with your hat as the flag goes by! And let the heart have its say; You're man enough for a tear in your eye That you will not wipe away.

A pitcher of mignonette, In a tenement's highest casement: Queer sort of flower-pot—yet That pitcher of mignonette Is a garden in heaven set, To the little sick child in the basement—

What does he plant who plants a tree? He plants the friend of sun and sky; He plants the flag of breezes free; The shaft of beauty, towering high; He plants a home to heaven anigh For song and mother-croon of bird

Shake was a dramatist of note; He lived by writing things to quote.

What, know you not […] That love must kiss that Mortal’s eyes Who hopes to see fair Arcady? No gold can buy you entrance there; But beggared Love may go all bare— No wisdom won with weariness;

Song like a rose should be; Each rhyme a petal sweet; For fragrance, melody, That when her lips repeat The words, her heart may know What secret makes them so:—