Poems with rhymes of rime

AH, from the niggard tree of Time
How quickly fall the hours!
It needs no touch of wind or rime

That we die before our time.
Little Alice died last year---the grave is shapen
Like a snowball, in the rime.

Could those mild morsels in my numbers chime,
And, as they roll in substance, roll in rime,

I flame with glittering rime,
and stand above the stubble, stiff
as mail at morning-prime.

To the dark season's frost and rime
This painted memory of spring,
This dream of summertime.

What is the use of setting it to rime?
When it is autumn do we get spring weather,
Or gather may of harsh northwindish time?

They and my mind may chime,
And mend my rime.

The sparkling of the early morning rime,
The evanescent glory of the time!

J'erre, aiguisant ces dards persécuteurs du crime,
Du juste trop faibles soutiens,
Sur mes lèvres soudain va suspendre la rime;

And peered in the rime
Of Candlemas-time

In the coldness and the darkness all through the long night-time,
My grated casement whitened with autumn's early rime.

You, sir, alone, fame, and all-conqu'ring rime,
File the set teeth of all-devouring time.

Riddle who list, for me, and pull for Prime:
I envy no man's nightingale or spring;
Nor let them punish me with loss of rime,

Skjøndt vaagen og i Drømme, hver en Time
Han gjør at jeg maa — rime.

There is no thought of rain and rime
After, next summer-time.

She thinks she smells the Northland rime,
And the dear dark nights of winter-time.

An the black earth spread white with rime,
The berries redden up to Christmas-time.

Autumn's the mellow time.
Nay, very late in the year,
Short day and frosty rime,

For Winter is a cheerless time
To live and lie alone;
But what to him is snow or rime,

Long have I lov'd to catch the simple chime
Of minstrel-harps, and spell the fabling rime;