Oh, no man knows / Through what wild centuries / Roves back the rose. |
Silence and sleep like fields / Of amaranth lie. |
Since that all things thou wouldst praise / Beauty took from those who loved them / In other days. |
Slowly, silently, now the moon / Walks the night in her silver shoon. |
Softly along the road of evening, / In a twilight dim with rose, / Wrinkled with age, and drenched with dew, / Old Nod, the shepherd, goes. |
Three jolly Farmers / Once bet a pound / Each dance the other would / Off the ground. |
Three jolly Farmers / Once bet a pound / Each dance the other would / Off the ground. |
Three jolly gentlemen, / In coats of red, / Rode their horses / Up to bed. |
Too late for fruit, too soon for flowers. |
Too tired to yawn, too tired to sleep: / Poor tired Tim! It's sad for him. |
Very old are we men; / Our dreams are tales / Told in dim Eden / By Eve's nightingales. |
When I lie where shades of darkness / Shall no more assail mine eyes. |
Who said, `Peacock Pie'? / The old king to the sparrow: / Who said, `Crops are ripe'? / Rust to the harrow. |
Who said, `Where sleeps she now? / Where rests she now her head, / Bathed in eve's loveliness'? / That's what I said. |