I seek her in the shady grove, And by the silent stream; I seek her where my fancies rove, In many a happy dream; I seek her where I find her not, In Spring and Summer weather:...
Somewhere is music from the linnets' bills, And thro' the sunny flowers the bee-wings drone, And white bells of convolvulus on hills Of quiet May make silent ringing, blown...
Alone they walked - their fingers knit together, And swaying listlessly as might a swing Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring. ...
A void is in the sky! A light has ceased the seaman's path to cheer, A star has left its ruby throne on high, A world forsook its sphere. Thy sisters bright pursue their circling way,...
Some say the spot is banned; that the pillar Cross-and-Hand Attests to a deed of hell; But of else than of bale is the mystic tale That ancient Vale-folk tell. ...
Poor little Lucy By some mischance, Lost her shoe As she did dance - 'Twas not on the stairs, Not in the hall; Not where they sat At supper at all. She looked in the garden,...
Look! look there! Send your eyes across the gray By my finger-point away Through the vaporous, fumy air. Beyond the air, you see the dark? Beyond the dark, the dawning day?...
What! see ye nothing yet? Knit your eyebrows close, and stare; Send your souls forth in the gaze, As my finger-point is set, Through the thick of the foggy air....
As they who, tossing midst the storm at night, While turning shoreward, where a beacon shone, Meet the walled blackness of the heaven alone, So, on the turbulent waves of party tossed,...
High on the Thracian hills, half hid in the billows of clover, Thyme, and the asphodel blooms, and lulled by Pactolian streamlet, She of Miletus lay, and beside her an aged satyr...
'Courage!' he said, and pointed toward the land, 'This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon.' In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon....
For Sunday's play he never makes excuse, But plays at taw, and buys his Spanish juice. Hard as his toil, and ever slow to speak, Yet he gives maidens many a burning cheek;...
I long for the streets but the Lord knoweth best, For there I am never a saint; There are lovable characters out in the West, With humour heroic and quaint; And, be it Up Country, or be it Out Back,...
Where the bridge out at Woodley did stride, Wi' his wide arches' cool she'ded bow, Up above the clear brook that did slide By the poppies, befoam'd white as snow; As the gilcups did quiver among...
The loveliest face! I turned to her Shut in 'mid savage rocks and trees; - 'Twas in the May-time of the year, And our two hearts were filled with ease - And pointed where a wild-rose grew,...
Oh the elements varied - the exquisite plan - That are used in constructing the lovely young man! His face he has easily made to possess The expression of nothing within to express;...