Like him who met his own eyes in the river, The poet trembles at his own long gaze That meets him through the changing nights and days From out great Nature; all her waters quiver...
Who knows what days I answer for to-day: Giving the bud I give the flower. I bow This yet unfaded and a faded brow; Bending these knees and feeble knees, I pray. ...
Who knows what days I answer for to-day: Giving the bud I give the flower. I bow This yet unfaded and a faded brow; Bending these knees and feeble knees, I pray. ...
I have no secrets from thee, lyre sublime, My lyre whereof I make my melody. I sing one way like the west wind through thee, With my whole heart, and hear thy sweet strings chime. ...
I have no secrets from thee, lyre sublime, My lyre whereof I make my melody. I sing one way like the west wind through thee, With my whole heart, and hear thy sweet strings chime. ...
We never meet; yet we meet day by day Upon those hills of life, dim and immense: The good we love, and sleep-our innocence. O hills of life, high hills! And higher than they, ...
We never meet; yet we meet day by day Upon those hills of life, dim and immense: The good we love, and sleep--our innocence. O hills of life, high hills! And higher than they, ...
Slight as thou art, thou art enough to hide, Like all created things, secrets from me, And stand a barrier to eternity. And I, how can I praise thee well and wide? ...
Slight as thou art, thou art enough to hide, Like all created things, secrets from me, And stand a barrier to eternity. And I, how can I praise thee well and wide? ...
Who looked for thee, thou little song of mine? This winter of a silent poet's heart Is suddenly sweet with thee, but what thou art, Mid-winter flower, I would I could divine. ...
Who looked for thee, thou little song of mine? This winter of a silent poet's heart Is suddenly sweet with thee, but what thou art, Mid-winter flower, I would I could divine. ...
On London fell a clearer light; Caressing pencils of the sun Defined the distances, the white Houses transfigured one by one, The "long, unlovely street" impearled. O what a sky has walked the world!...
I come from nothing; but from where Come the undying thoughts I bear? Down, through long links of death and birth, From the past poets of the earth. My immortality is there. ...
As the full moon shining there To the sun that lighteth her Am I unto thee for ever, O my secret glory-giver! O my light, I am dark but fair, Black but fair. ...
As the full moon shining there To the sun that lighteth her Am I unto thee for ever, O my secret glory-giver! O my light, I am dark but fair, Black but fair. ...
She walks - the lady of my delight - A shepherdess of sheep. Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white; She guards them from the steep. She feeds them on the fragrant height,...
Longer than thine, than thine, Is now my time of life; and thus thy years Seem to be clasped and harboured within mine. O how ignoble this my clasp appears! ...