When, on a novel's newly printed page We find a maudlin eulogy of sin, And read of ways that harlots wander in, And of sick souls that writhe in helpless rage;...
Late, when the Autumn evening fell On Mirkwood Mere's romantic dell, The lake return'd, in chasten'd gleam, The purple cloud, the golden beam: Reflected in the crystal pool,...
I saw the daughters of the ocean dance With wind and tide, and heard them on the rocks: White hands they waved me, tossing sunlit locks, Green as the light an emerald holds in trance....
Once on a Lord Mayor's Day, in Cheapside, when Skulls could not well pass through that scum of men, For quick despatch Skulls made no longer stay Than but to breathe, and everyone gave way;...
Pluck not the wayside flower, It is the traveller's dower; A thousand passers-by Its beauties may espy, May win a touch of blessing From Nature's mild caressing. The sad of heart perceives...
'Weak is the will of Man, his judgment blind; 'Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays; 'Heavy is woe; and joy, for human-kind, 'A mournful thing, so transient is the blaze!'...
From what old ballad, or from what rich frame Did you descend to glorify the earth? Was it from Chaucer's singing book you came? Or did Watteau's small brushes give you birth?...
Who shall tell what did befall, Far away in time, when once, Over the lifeless ball, Hung idle stars and suns? What god the element obeyed? Wings of what wind the lichen bore,...
Father and Mother, and Me, Sister and Auntie say All the people like us are We, And every one else is They. And They live over the sea, While We live over the way,...
We are accused of terrorism If we dare to write about the remains of a homeland That is scattered in pieces and in decay In decadence and disarray About a homeland that is searching for a place...
We are not always glad when we smile: Though we wear a fair face and are gay, And the world we deceive May not ever believe We could laugh in a happier way. - Yet, down in the deeps of the soul,...
We are with France - not by the ties Of treaties made with tongue in cheek, The ancient diplomatic lies, The paper promises that seek To hide the long maturing guile, Planning destruction with a smile....
Wearies my love of my letters? Does she my silence command? Sunders she Love's rosy fetters As though they were woven of sand? Tires she too of each token Indited with many a sigh?...
O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load; I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin,...