Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June, Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon, When even the bees lag at the summoning brass;...
As is your name, so is your comely face Touch'd every where with such diffused grace, As that in all that admirable round, There is not one least solecism found; And as that part, so every portion else...
When this burning flesh Burns down in Time's slow fire to a glowing ash; When these lips have uttered The last word, and the ears' last echoes fluttered; And crumbled these firm bones...
Nurture thyself, O Soul, from the clear spring That wells beneath the secret inner shrine; Commune with its deep murmur, - 'tis divine; Be faithful to the ebb and flow that bring...
Never my book's perfection did appear Till I had got the name of Villars here: Now 'tis so full that when therein I look I see a cloud of glory fills my book. Here stand it still to dignify our Muse,...
'Tis sweet to recollect life's past controls, And turn to days of sorrow when they're bye, And think of gentle friends and feeling souls That offered shelter when the storm was high,--...
Say, Townshend, what can London boast To pay thee for the pleasures lost, The health to-day resign'd, When spring from this her favorite seat Bade winter hasten his retreat, And met the western wind....
When to thy porch I come and ravish'd see The state of poets there attending thee, Those bards and I, all in a chorus sing: We are thy prophets, Porter, thou our king.
Brave infant of Saguntum, clear Thy coming forth in that great year, When the prodigious Hannibal did crown His rage, with razing your immortal town. Thou looking then about...
Where hast thou floated, in what seas pursued Thy pastime? when wast thou an egg new spawn'd, Lost in the immensity of ocean's waste? Roar as they might, the overbearing winds...
They try to persuade me, my dear little sprite, That you're not a true daughter of ether and light, Nor have any concern with those fanciful forms That dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms;...
Farewell! The gold we send shall be a token Of that which in our hearts is growing strong; You asked our sympathy, and we have spoken, 'They wrong us who our brothers rob and wrong.' ...
Dark creeping Ivy, with thy berries brown, That fondly twists' on ruins all thine own, Old spire-points studding with a leafy crown Which every minute threatens to dethrone;...