Methought that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues which in their natural bowers Were mingled or opposed, the like array Kept these imprison'd children of the Hours Within my hand;--and then, elate and gay, I hasten'd to the spot whence I had come, That I might there present it--O! to whom? Percy Bysshe Shelley. 1792-1822 617. Remorse AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drunk the last pale beam of even: Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven. Pause not! the time is past! Every voice cries, 'Away!' Tempt not with one last tear thy friend's ungentle mood: Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay: Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude. Away, away! to thy sad and silent home; Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth; Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come, And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth. The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head, The blooms of dewy Spring shall gleam beneath thy feet: But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead, Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere thou and peace, may meet. The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose, For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep; Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows; Whatever moves or toils or grieves hath its appointed sleep. Thou in the grave shalt rest:--yet, till the phantoms flee, Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance and repentance and deep musings are not free From the music of two voices, and the light of one sweet smile. Percy Bysshe Shelley. 1792-1822 618. Music, when Soft Voices die MUSIC, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on. Hew Ainslie. 1792-1878 619. Willie and Helen 'WHAREFORE sou'd ye talk o' love, Unless it be to pain us? Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love Whan ye say the sea maun twain us?' 'It 's no because my love is light, Nor for your angry deddy; It 's a' to buy ye pearlins bright, An' to busk ye like a leddy.' 'O Willy, I can caird an' spin, Se ne'er can want for cleedin'; An' gin I hae my Willy's heart, I hae a' the pearls I'm heedin'. 'Will it be time to praise this cheek Whan years an' tears has blench'd it? Will it be time to talk o' love Whan cauld an' care has quench'd it?' He's laid ae han' about her waist-- The ither 's held to heaven; An' his luik was like the luik o' man Wha's heart in twa is riven. cleedin'] clothing. John Keble. 1792-1866 620. Burial of the Dead