1.Whither，‘midst falling dew，While glow the heavens with the last steps of day.Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursueThy solitary way？
2.Vainly the fowler’s eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong As，darkly seen against the crimson sky，Thy figure floats along.
3.Seek‘st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake，or marge of river wide，Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean side？
4.There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast-The desert and illimitable air-Lone wandering，but not lost.
5.All day thy wings have fanned At that far height the cold，thin atmosphere，Yet stoop not weary to the welcome land，Though the dark night is here.
6.And soon that toil shall end：
Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest，And scream among thy fellows；reeds shall bendSoon o’er thy sheltered nest.
7.Thou‘rt gone-the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form；yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given，And shall not soon depart.
8.He who from zone to zone Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight，In the long way that I must tread aloneWill lead my steps aright.
1.Bring flowers，young flowers，for the festal board，To wreathe the cup ere the wine is poured；Bring flowers！they are springing in wood and vale，Their breath floats out on the southern gale，And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose，To deck the hall where the bright wine flows.
2.Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror’s path，He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath！He comes with the spoils of nations back，The vines lie crushed in his chariot‘s track，The turf looks red where he won the day；Bring flowers to die in the conqueror’s way.
3.Bring flowers to the captive‘s lonely cell；They have tales of the joyous woods to tell，Of the free blue streams，and the glowing sky，And the bright world shut from his languid eye；They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours，And a dream of his youth-bring him flowers，wild flowers！
4.Bring flowers，fresh flowers，for the bride to wear！
They were born to blush in her shining hair；She is leaving the home of her childhood’s mirth，She hath bid farewell to her father‘s hearth，Her place is now by another’s side-Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride！
5.Bring flowers，pale flowers，o‘er the bier to shed-A crown for the brow of the early dead！
For this through its leaves hath the white rose burst，For this in the woods was the violet nursed；Though they smile in vain for what once was ours，They are love’s last gift-bring ye flowers，pale flowers！
6.Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer；They are nature‘s offering，their place is there！
They speak of hope to the fainting heart，With a voice of promise they come and part；They sleep in dust through the wintry hours，They break forth in glory-bring flowers，bright flowers！
1.Oh，how could Fancy crown with thee In ancient days the god of wine，And bid thee at the banquet be Companion of the vine？
Thy home，wild plant，is where each sound Of revelry hath long been o’er，Where song‘s full notes once pealed around，But now are heard no more.
2The Roman on his battle-plains，Where kings before his eagles bent，Entwined thee with exulting strains Around the victor’s tent；Yet there，though fresh in glossy green Triumphantly thy boughs might way，Better thou lovest the silent scene Around the victor‘s grave.
3.Where sleep the sons of ages flown，The bards and heroes of the past；Where，through the halls of glory gone，Murmurs the wintry blast，Where years are hastening to efface Each record of the grand and fair，-Thou in thy solitary grace，Wreath of the tomb，art there.
4.Oh，many a temple once sublime Beneath a blue Italian sky，Hath nought of beauty left by time Save thy wild tapestry！
And reared ’midst crags and clouds，‘tis thine To wave where banners waved of yore，O’er towers that crest the noble Rhine，Along his rocky shore.
5.High from the fields of air look down Those eyries of a vanished race-Homes of the mighty，whose renownHath passed，and left no trace.But there thou art；thy foliage brightUnchanged the mountain storm can brave-Thou，that wilt climb the loftiest height，Or deck the humblest grave！
6.‘Tis still the same：where’er we tread，The wrecks of human power we see-The marvels of all ages fledLeft to decay and thee！
And still let man his fabrics rear，August，in beauty，grace，and strength；Days pass-thou ivy never sere，And all is thine at length！
1.The day is done，and the darkness Falls from the wings of night，As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight.
2.I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist，And a feeling of sadness comes o‘er meThat my soul cannot resist-3.A feeling of sadness and longing That is not akin to pain，And resembles sorrow onlyAs the mist resembles the rain.
4.Come，read to me some poem，Some simple and heartfelt lay，That shall soothe this restless feeling，And banish the thoughts of day.
5.Not from the grand old masters，Not from the bards sublime，Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time.
6.For，like strains of martial music，Their mighty thoughts suggestLife’s endless toil and endeavour；And to-night I long for rest.
7.Read from some humbler poet，Whose songs gushed from his heart，As showers from the clouds of summer，Or tears from the eyelids start；8.Who，through long days of labour，And nights devoid of ease，Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies.
9，Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care，And come like the benediction That follows after prayer.
10.Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice，And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.
11.And the night shall be filled with music，And the cares that infest the dayShall fold their tents，like the Arabs，And as silently steal away.
1.The sky is ruddy in the east，The earth is grey below，And，spectral in the river-mist，The ship‘s white timbers show.
