Edward Cracroft Lefroy: His Life and Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Edward Cracroft Lefroy: His Life and Poems

including a Reprint of Echoes from Theocritus: By Wilfred Austin Gill: With a Critical Estimate of the Sonnets by the late John Addington Symonds

Lefroy, Edward Cracroft (1855-1891)

ECHOES FROM THEOCRITUS

II.

III.

IV.

V A SUMMER DAY IN OLD SICILY

VI.

VISIMAETHA, I

VII.

VII SIMAETHA, II

VIII.

VIII THE GOATHERD IN LOVE

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIII AT THE SHRINE OF PAN

XIV.

XIV AT THE FARM OF PHRASIDAMUS

XV.

XV THE SINGING-MATCH, I

XVI.

XVI THE SINGING-MATCH, II

XVII.

XVII THE SINGING-MATCH, III

XVIII.

XVIII MENALCAS

XIX.

XIX THE TOMB OF DIOCLES

XX.

XX HYLAS

XXI.

XXI THE TUNNY-FISHERS

XXII.

XXII THE YOUTH OF HERACLES

XXIII.

XXIII THE FLUTE OF DAPHNIS

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXVIII THE EPITAPH OF EUSTHENES

XXIX.

XXIX THE MONUMENT OF CLEITA

XXX.

XXX THE GRAVE OF HIPPONAX

MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS

I TO CERTAIN KIND CRITICS

II.

II A WOODLAND STREAM, I

III.

III A WOODLAND STREAM, II

IV.

IV A WOODLAND STREAM, III

V A WOODLAND STREAM, IV

VI.

VI IN THE MEADOW

VII.

VII A RUSTIC BRIDGE, I

VIII.

VIII A RUSTIC BRIDGE, II

IX.

IX POPPIES

X ON THE BEACH

XI.

XI FROM A QUIET PLACE

XII.

XII SUBURBAN MEADOWS

XIII.

XIII AN AUTUMN THOUGHT

XIV.

XIV TOWARDS EVENING

XV.

XV A CHANGE

XVI.

XVI ON THE SUMMIT

XVII.

XVII ON THE BEACH IN NOVEMBER

XVIII.

XVIII SOMETHING LOST

XIX.

XIX THE CHILDREN'S PRIVILEGE

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXV A COLLEGE FOR DECAYED MERCHANTS, I

XXVI.

XXVI A COLLEGE FOR DECAYED MERCHANTS, II

XXVII.

XXVII A FOOTBALL PLAYER

XXVIII.

XXVIII A CRICKET BOWLER

XXIX.

XXIX BEFORE THE RACE

XXX.

XXX THE NEW CRICKET-GROUND

XXXI.

XXXI A PALÆSTRAL STUDY

XXXII.

XXXII CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

XXXIII.

XXXIII A REBUKE

XXXIV.

XXXIV THE POWER OF CHILDHOOD

XXXV.

XXXV FLORA

XXXVI.

XXXVI BILL: A PORTRAIT

XXXVII.

XXXVII FROM ANY POET

XXXVIII.

XXXVIII A STORY OF AURELIUS

XXXIX.

XXXIX A THOUGHT FROM PINDAR

XL.

XL VIRGIL

XLI.

XLI IN THE CLOISTERS

XLII.

XLII IN THE CLOISTERS

XLIII.

XLIII TWO THOUGHTS

XLIV.

XLIV A BENEDICTION

XLV.

XLV THE EXCUSE

XLVI.

XLVI A PLEA FOR DELAY

XLVII.

XLVII THE DYING PRINCE

XLVIII.

XLVIII A DREAM OF PICTURES

XLIX.

XLIX AFTER TEN YEARS

L TO A WORKER RESIGNED

LI.

LII.

LIII.

LIV.

LV.

LVI.

LVI A PILGRIM

LVII.

LVII QUEM DI DILIGUNT

LVIII.

LVIII BY A GRAVE-SIDE

LIX.

LIX ON READING A POET'S “LIFE”

LX.

LX TO A MOTHER

LXI.

LXI TO A STRANGE TEACHER

LXII.

LXII WINDOWS OF THE CHURCH

LXIII.

LXIII WINDOWS OF THE CHURCH

LXIV.

LXIV WINDOWS OF THE CHURCH

LXV.

LXV WINDOWS OF THE CHURCH

LXVI.

LXVI THE TORCH-BEARER

LXVII.

LXVII THE POET

LXVIII.

LXVIII THE ART THAT ENDURES

LXIX.

LXIX WORDS AND THOUGHTS

LXX.

LXX AN APOLOGY

LXXI.

LXXI LIFE

LXXII.

LXXII TO A STUDENT

LXXIII.

LXXIII AT THE ISTHMIAN GAMES

LXXIV.

LXXIV IN THE SOPHIST'S AKADEMÊ: AN IDLER

LXXV.

LXXV THE SAME CONTINUED

LXXVI.

LXXVI A PHILISTINE

LXXVII.

LXXVII A PHILOSOPHER

LXXVIII.

LXXVIII DEDICATION TO “THE WINDOWS OF THE CHURCH”

LXXIX.

LXXIX A DISCIPLE SECRETLY, I

LXXX.

LXXX A DISCIPLE SECRETLY, II

LXXXI.

LXXXI DREAM-TRAVEL

LXXXII.

LXXXII ISABEL: A PORTRAIT

LXXXIII.

LXXXIII THE HONEY-MOON

LXXXIV.

LXXXIV A POETASTER

LXXXV.

LXXXV AN EVENING WALK

LXXXVI.

LXXXVI SHELLEY

LXXXVII.

LXXXVII THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD

LXXXVIII.

LXXXVIII AUTUMN LEAVES

LXXXIX.

XC.

XCI.

XCII.

XCIII.

XCIV.

XCV.

XCV THE CARPET-WEAVER

XCVI.

XCVI FAITH AND LOVE

XCVII.

XCVII REVERENCE

XCVIII.

XCVIII THE BEST ANSWER

XCIX.

TO A MAIDEN WHO WISHES TO DRESS A LA MODE

ODE

TO AMARYLLIS

RONDEAUS

II.

III.

IV.

O LOVE, O LOVE, HOW LONG?

“LORD, AND WHAT SHALL THIS MAN DO?”

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

LVI
A PILGRIM

'Tis only perfect faith that never tires,
An angel trust that murmurs, “Come what may,
No fond regret shall tempt my feet to stray
From the strict path of mortified desires.”
Though hearts are weak, lips need not so be liars.
Had there been any choice, I do not say
I should have chosen this dull rugged way,
This way of stones and flints, and wayside briars.
What then? I grieve not, faint not. God is kind.
He gives me strange sweet flowers that push between
The flints,—such as no garden ever bore:
And gathering these, how can I choose but mind
What thankful hearts have gleaned where now I glean,
What patient feet have passed this way before?