In the fair days when God By man as godlike trod, And each alike was Greek, alike was free, God's lightning spared, they said, Alone the happier head Whose laurels screened it; fruitless grace for thee,...
Return to greet me, colours that were my joy, Not in the woeful crimson of men slain, But shining as a garden; come with the streaming Banners of dawn and sundown after rain. ...
Your past is past and never to return, The long bright yesterday of life's first years, Its days are dead -- cold ashes in an urn. Some held for you a chalice for your tears,...
Hear, ye virgins, and I'll teach What the times of old did preach. Rosamond was in a bower Kept, as Danae in a tower: But yet Love, who subtle is, Crept to that, and came to this....
Blest spirit, who with loving tenderness Quickenest my heart so old and near to die, Who mid thy joys on me dost bend an eye Though many nobler men around thee press!...
Send but a song oversea for us, Heart of their hearts who are free, Heart of their singer, to be for us More than our singing can be; Ours, in the tempest at error,...
Was it the double of my dream The woman that by me lay Dreamed, or did we halve a dream Under the first cold gleam of day? I thought: "There is a waterfall Upon Ben Bulben side...
What do I care about the swift newspaper boys. The approach of the late auto-beasts does not frighten me. I rest on my moving legs. My face is wet with rain. Green remains of the night Stick to my eyes....
Hastings! I knew thee young, and of a mind, While young, humane, conversable, and kind, Nor can I well believe thee, gentle then, Now grown a villain, and the worst of men....
Beautiful flowers! with your petals bright, Ye float on the waves like spirits of light, Wooing the zephyr that ruffles your leaves With a gentle sigh, like a lover that grieves,...
From the brake the Nightingale Sings exulting to the Rose; Though he sees her waxing pale In her passionate repose, While she triumphs waxing frail, Fading even while she glows; Though he knows...
Farewell, Macready, since to-night we part; Full-handed thunders often have confessed Thy power, well-used to move the public breast. We thank thee with our voice, and from the heart....
To weave a garland for the rose. And think thus crown'd 'twould lovelier be, Were far less vain than to suppose That silks and gems add grace to thee. Where is the pearl whose orient lustre...
Oh tell me not of the lands so old Where the Orient treasures its hills of gold, And the rivers lie in the sun's bright rays Forever singing the old world's praise. Nor proudly boast of the gardens grand...