Thou, by whom, freed from rules constrained and wrong, On truth and nature once again we're placed, Who, in the cradle e'en a hero strong, Stiffest the serpents round our genius laced,...
We see the sky, - we love it day by day; We feel the wind of Spring, from blossoms winging; We meet with souls tender as tints in May: For these large ecstasies what are we bringing? ...
Next is your lot, fair, to be number'd one, Here, in my book's canonisation: Late you come in; but you a saint shall be, In chief, in this poetic liturgy.
When first I find those numbers thou dost write, To be most soft, terse, sweet, and perpolite: Next, when I see thee tow'ring in the sky, In an expansion no less large than high;...
These summer-birds did with thy master stay The times of warmth, but then they flew away, Leaving their poet, being now grown old, Expos'd to all the coming winter's cold....
On, as thou hast begun, brave youth, and get The palm from Urbin, Titian, Tintoret, Brugel and Coxu, and the works outdo Of Holbein and that mighty Rubens too. So draw and paint as none may do the like,...
O earth! earth! earth! hear thou my voice, and be Loving and gentle for to cover me! Banish'd from thee I live; ne'er to return, Unless thou giv'st my small remains an urn.
Since shed or cottage I have none, I sing the more, that thou hast one; To whose glad threshold, and free door I may a Poet come, though poor; And eat with thee a savoury bit,...
I've paid thee what I promis'd; that's not all; Besides I give thee here a verse that shall (When hence thy circummortal part is gone), Arch-like, hold up thy name's inscription....
Since, for thy full deserts, with all the rest Of these chaste spirits that are here possest Of life eternal, time has made thee one For growth in this my rich plantation,...
A strong discomfort in the dress Dwindling the clothes to nothingness Saving, for due decorum placed, A huckaback about the waist, Or wanton towel-et, whose touch...
Go, pretty child, and bear this flower Unto thy little Saviour; And tell him, by that bud now blown, He is the Rose of Sharon known. When thou hast said so, stick it there Upon his bib or stomacher;...
Since now thou art about to leave Thy father's quiet house, And all the phantoms and illusions dear, That heaven-born fancies round it weave, And to this lonely region lend their charm,...
Two Suns of Love make day of human life, Which else with all its pains, and griefs, and deaths, Were utter darkness'one, the Sun of dawn That brightens thro' the Mother's tender eyes,...
This life, dear Corry, who can doubt?-- Resembles much friend Ewart's[1] wine, When first the rosy drops come out, How beautiful, how clear they shine!...
O Goudie! terror of the Whigs, Dread of black coats and rev'rend wigs, Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, Girnin', looks back, Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues Wad seize you quick. ...