The Year’s twelve daughters had in turn gone by, …
Walter Savage Landor
Child of a day, thou knowest not …
Stand close around, ye Stygian set, …
“Do you remember me? or are you proud?” …
I strove with none, for none was worth my strife: …
Here, where precipitate Spring with one light bound …
Ianthe! you are call’d to cross the sea! …
Mild is the parting year, and sweet …
Mother, I cannot mind my wheel; …
Ah what avails the sceptred race, …
Soon, O Ianthe! life is o’er, …
I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone, …
There is delight in singing, tho’ none hear …
You smiled, you spoke, and I believed, …