When the voices of children are heard on the green, And laughing is heard on the hill, My heart is at rest within my breast, And everything else is still. "Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,...
My silks and fine array, My smiles and languish'd air, By love are driv'n away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave; Such end true lovers have.
Sound the flute! Now it's mute! Bird's delight, Day and night, Nightingale, In the dale, Lark in sky,-- Merrily, Merrily merrily, to welcome in the year.
The Caverns of the Grave I've seen, And these I show'd to England's Queen. But now the Caves of Hell I view, Who shall I dare to show them to? What mighty soul i 362 n Beauty's form...
A little black thing in the snow, Crying "weep! weep!" in notes of woe! "Where are thy father and mother? Say!" "They are both gone up to the church to pray.
When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry "Weep! weep! weep! weep!" So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep. ...
A little black thing among the snow: Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe! Where are thy father & mother? say? They are both gone up to the church to pray.
When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue, Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep, So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep. ...
I love to rise on a summer morn, When birds are singing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me: Oh what sweet company! ...
How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot! From the morn to the evening he stays; He shall follow his sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be filled with praise.