I Soft, small, and sweet as sunniest flowers That bask in heavenly heat When bud by bud breaks, breathes, and cowers, Soft, small, and sweet. A babe's hands open as to greet...
O strong Republic of the nobler years Whose white feet shine beside time's fairer flood That shall flow on the clearer for our blood Now shed, and the less brackish for our tears;...
The strong spring sun rejoicingly may rise, Rise and make revel, as of old men said, Like dancing hearts of lovers newly wed: A light more bright than ever bathed the skies...
Death, if thou wilt, fain would I plead with thee: Canst thou not spare, of all our hopes have built, One shelter where our spirits fain would be, Death, if thou wilt? ...
A bell tolls on in my heart As though in my ears a knell Had ceased for awhile to swell, But the sense of it would not part From the spirit that bears its part In the chime of the soundless bell....
All Afric, winged with death and fire, Pants in our pleasant English air. Each blade of grass is tense as wire, And all the wood's loose trembling hair Stark in the broad and breathless glare...
In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland, At the sea-down's edge between windward and lee, Walled round with rocks as an inland island, The ghost of a garden fronts the sea....
For the seven times seventh time love would renew the delight without end or alloy That it takes in the praise as it takes in the presence of eyes that fulfil it with joy;...
Three men lived yet when this dead man was young Whose names and words endure for ever one: Whose eyes grew dim with straining toward the sun, And his wings weakened, and his angel's tongue...
France, cloven in twain by fire of hell and hate, Shamed with the shame of men her meanest born, Soldier and judge whose names, inscribed for scorn, Stand vilest on the record writ of fate,...
In the beginning God made thee A woman well to look upon, Thy tender body as a tree Whereon cool wind hath always blown Till the clean branches be well grown.
1746 The weary day rins down and dies, The weary night wears through: And never an hour is fair wi' flower, And never a flower wi' dew. I would the day were night for me,...