Like a snowdrift is her bed,
Dinted the snow,
Faint frozen lines from foot to head,—
She lies below.
Turn from off her shrouded face
The frigid sheet….
Death hath doubled all her grace—
O Jenny, sweet!
MY BOOKS
What are my books?—My friends, my loves,
My church, my tavern, and my only wealth;
My garden: yea, my flowers, my bees, my doves;
My only doctors—and my only health.
MAMMON
(FOR MR, G. F. WATTS'S PICTURE)
Mammon is this, of murder and of gold,
To-day, to-morrow, and ever from of old,
Th' Almighty God, and King of every land.
Man 'neath his foot, and woman 'neath his hand,
Kneel prostrate: he, 'tis meant to symbolise,
Steals our strong men and our sweet women buys.
O! rather grind me down into the dust
Than choose me for the vessel of thy lust.
ART
Art is a gipsy,
Fickle as fair,
Good to kiss and flirt with,
But marry—if you dare!