Upon a mountain height, far from the sea, I found a shell, And to my listening ear the lonely thing Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing, Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell. ...
Young woman, may God bless thee, Thee, and the sucking infant Upon thy breast! Let me, 'gainst this rocky wall, Neath the elm-tree's shadow, Lay aside my burden,...
He whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius, Feels no dread within his heart At the tempest or the rain. He whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius, Will to the rain-clouds, Will to the hailstorm, Sing in reply...
What life like that of the bard can be-- The wandering bard, who roams as free As the mountain lark that o'er him sings, And, like that lark, a music brings Within him, where'er he comes or goes,--...
Is it the Eternal Triune, is it He Who dares arrest the wheels of destiny And plunge me in the lowest Hell of Hells? Will not the lightning's blast destroy my frame?...
And they heard the tent-poles clatter, And the fly in twain was torn, 'Tis the soiled rag of a tatter Of the tent where I was born. And what matters it, I wonder? Brick or stone or calico?,...
Down the world with Marna! That's the life for me! Wandering with the wandering wind, Vagabond and unconfined! Roving with the roving rain Its unboundaried domain! Kith and kin of wander-kind,...
The Wanderlust has lured me to the seven lonely seas, Has dumped me on the tailing-piles of dearth; The Wanderlust has haled me from the morris chairs of ease, Has hurled me to the ends of all the earth....
And like a dying lady, lean and pale, Who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil, Out of her chamber, led by the insane And feeble wanderings of her fading brain, The moon arose up in the murky East,...
A Sense of something that is sad and strange; Of something that is felt as death is felt, As shadows, phantoms, in a haunted grange, Around me seems to melt.
The wan sun westers, faint and slow; The eastern distance glimmers gray; An eerie haze comes creeping low Across the little, lonely bay; And from the sky-line far away About the quiet heaven are spread...
It watched me in the cradle laid, and from my boyhood's home It glared above my shoulder-blade when I wrote my first 'pome'; It's sidled by me ever since, with greeny eyes aslant,...
Young Chloe looks sweet as the rose, And her love might be reckoned no less, But her bosom so freely bestows That all may a portion possess. Her smiles would be cheering to see,...
I. Yonder, with eyes that tears, not distance, dim, With ears the wide world's thickness cannot daunt, We see tumultuous miseries that haunt The night's dead watches, hear the battle hymn...