Living child or pictured cherub, Ne'er o'ermatched its baby grace; And the mother, moving nearer, Looked it calmly in the face; Then with slight and quiet gesture,...
Is it illusion? or does there a spirit from perfecter ages, Here, even yet, amid loss, change, and corruption, abide? Does there a spirit we know not, though seek, though we find, comprehend not,...
Yet to the wondrous St. Peter's, and yet to the solemn Rotonda, Mingling with heroes and gods, yet to the Vatican Walls, Yet may we go, and recline, while a whole mighty world seems above us,...
Eastward, or Northward, or West? I wander and ask as I wander, Weary, yet eager and sure, Where shall I come to my love? Whitherward hasten to seek her? Ye daughters of Italy, tell me,...
There is a city, upbuilt on the quays of the turbulent Arno, Under Fiesole's heights, thither are we to return? There is a city that fringes the curve of the inflowing waters,...
Haply some Rajah first in the ages gone Amid his languid ladies fingered thee, While a black nightingale, sun-swart as he, Sang his one wife, love's passionate oraison;...
As Lord Carteret's residence in Ireland as Viceroy was a series of cabals against the authority of the Prime Minister, he failed not, as well from his love of literature as from his hatred to Walpole, to attach to himself as mu...
You can sigh o'er the sad-eyed Armenian Who weeps in her desolate home. You can mourn o'er the exile of Russia From kindred and friends doomed to roam.
With its cloud of skirmishers in advance, With now the sound of a single shot, snapping like a whip, and now an irregular volley, The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on;...
A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags, A rude and natural causeway, interposed Between the water and a winding slope Of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern shore Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy:...
There was once a little comet who lived near the Milky Way! She loved to wander out at night and jump about and play. The mother of the comet was a very good old star -...
It's my grief that I am not a little white duck, And I'd swim over the sea to France or to Spain; I would not stay in Ireland for one week only, To be without eating, without drinking, without a full jug. ...
When love has changed to kindliness, Oh, love, our hungry lips, that press So tight that Time's an old god's dream Nodding in heaven, and whisper stuff Seven million years were not enough...
No, now I wish the sunshine would stop, and the white shining houses, and the gay red flowers on the balconies and the bluish mountains beyond, would be crushed out between two valves of darkness; the darkness falling, the dark...
But do not let us quarrel any more, No, my Lucrezia; bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. You turn your face, but does it bring your heart?...
It was many and many a year ago, In a city by the sea, That a man there lived whom I happened to know By the name of Andrew M'Crie; And this man he slept in another room,...