Haydon! forgive me that I cannot speak Definitively of these mighty things; Forgive me, that I have not eagle's wings, That what I want I know not where to seek,...
One looks into the sun lawn, and the steep Curved slopes of hills, set sharp against the sky, With tufted woods encinctured, waving high O'er vales below, where broken shadows sleep....
Into the shadow-white chamber silts the white Flux of another dawn. The wind that all night Long has waited restless, suddenly wafts A whirl like snow from the plum-trees and the pear,...
I know two women, and one is chaste And cold as the snows on a winter waste, Stainless ever in act and thought (As a man, born dumb, in speech errs not). But she has malice toward her kind,...
Eighty years have passed, and more, Since under the brave old tree Our fathers gathered in arms, and swore They would follow the sign their banners bore,...
"Whenever I plunge my arm, like this, In a basin of water, I never miss The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day Fetched back from its thickening shroud of gray. Hence the only prime And real love-rhyme...
The fight I loved - the good old fight - Was clear as day 'twixt Might and Right; Satrap and slave on either hand, Tiller and tyrant of the land; One delved the earth the other trod,...
Two hours, two hours: God give me strength for it! He who has given so much strength to me And nothing to my child, must give to-day What more I need to try and save my child...
Unto what end, I ask, unto what end Is all this effort, this unrest and toil? Work that avails not? strife and mad turmoil? Ambitions vain that rack our hearts and rend? Did labor but avail! did it defend...
So long you did not sing or touch your lute, We knew 'twas flesh and blood that there sat mute. But when your playing and your voice came in, 'Twas no more you then, but a cherubin.
That morn which saw me made a bride, The evening witness'd that I died. Those holy lights, wherewith they guide Unto the bed the bashful bride, Serv'd but as tapers for to burn...
Old Widow Prouse, to do her neighbours evil, Would give, some say, her soul unto the devil. Well, when she's kill'd that pig, goose, cock, or hen, What would she give to get that soul again?
In this little vault she lies, Here, with all her jealousies: Quiet yet; but if ye make Any noise they both will wake, And such spirits raise 'twill then Trouble death to lay again.