Mostly in a dull rotation We bear our loads and eat and drink and sleep. Feeling no tears, knowing no meditation, Too tired to think, too clogged with earth to weep. ...
Here, where love's stuff is body, arm and side Are stabbing-sweet 'gainst chair and lamp and wall. In every touch more intimate meanings hide; And flaming brains are the white heart of all. ...
About the country they may talk who will, Who praise it ever to the town's despite. Let him extol the charms of wood and hill Who finds them peerless. None disputes his right. ...
Beyond the path of the outmost sun through utter darkness hurled, Further than ever comet flared or vagrant star-dust swirled, Live such as fought and sailed and ruled and loved and made our world. ...
Woman! experience might have told me That all must love thee, who behold thee: Surely experience might have taught Thy firmest promises are nought; But, plac'd in all thy charms before me,...
Those who have laid the harp aside And turn'd to idler things, From very restlessness have tried The loose and dusty strings. And, catching back some favourite strain, Run with it o'er the chords again....
Wordsworth I love, his books are like the fields, Not filled with flowers, but works of human kind; The pleasant weed a fragrant pleasure yields, The briar and broomwood shaken by the wind,...
Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know That things depart which never may return: Childhood and youth, friendship and love's first glow, Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn....
There's a story no one knows, But myself, about a rose And a fairy and a star Where the Toyland people are. Once when I had gone to bed, Mother said it was a dream,...
Let us twain walk aside from the rest; Now we are together privately, do you discard ceremony, Come! vouchsafe to me what has yet been vouchsafed to none, Tell me the whole story,...
The bookman he's a humming-bird - His feasts are honey-fine, - (With hi! hilloo! And clover-dew And roses lush and rare!) Hiss roses are the phrase and word Of olden tomes divine;...
I know! I know!-- The ceaseless ache, the emptiness, the woe,-- The pang of loss,-- The strength that sinks beneath so sore a cross. "--Heedless and careless, still the world wags on,...
Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers, Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take! How many memories of what radiant hours At sight of thee and thine at once awake!...