Fortune! I thank thee: gentle goddess! thanks! Not that my muse, though bashful, shall deny She would have thank'd thee rather hadst thou cast A treasure in her way; for neither meed...
Nature in charms is exhaustless, in beauty ever reviving; And, like Nature, fair art is inexhaustible too. Hail, thou honored old man! for both in thy heart thou preservest...
Once wisdom dwelt in tomes of ponderous size, While friendship from a pocketbook would talk; But now that knowledge in small compass lies, And floats in almanacs, as light as cork,...
Whoe'er thou art, approach, and, with a sigh, Mark where the small remains of Greatness lie.[2] There sleeps the dust of Him for ever gone; How near the Scene where once his Glory shone!...
Are the guests of this house still doom'd to be cheated? Sure the Fates have decreed they by halves should be treated. In the days of good John[1] if you came here to dine,...
Yes, 'tis the pulse of life! my fears were vain! I wake, I breathe, and am myself again. Still in this nether world; no seraph yet! Nor walks my spirit, when the sun is set,...
Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd, And yet can starve the author of the pleasure! O thou my elder brother in misfortune, By far my elder brother in the muses, With tears I pity thy unhappy fate!...
We're travelling down a carnival road, are met at intersections by varying faces: poets as eyes in collapsed black holes, even the universe as extension of the stellar poet. Then, they are transformed,...
The fair Pomona flourish'd in his reign; Of all the virgins of the sylvan train None taught the trees a nobler race to bear, Or more improved the vegetable care. To her the shady grove, the flowery field,...
The fair Pomona flourish'd in his reign; Of all the Virgins of the sylvan train, None taught the trees a nobler race to bear, Or more improv'd the vegetable care. To her the shady grove, the flow'ry field,...
Very true, the linnets sing Sweetest in the leaves of spring: You have found in all these leaves That which changes and deceives, And, to pine by sun or star, Left them, false ones as they are....
Strange grows the river on the sunless evenings! The river comforts me, grown spectral, vague and dumb: Long was the day; at last the consoling shadows come: Sufficient for the day are the day's evil things!...