I swear by the holy Virgin, I swear by her Son divine, I swear by the throne of the Mighty, I swear by the hope that is mine; I swear by the youth and innocence, By the beauty that has been,...
An old, lost lane; where can it lead? To stony pastures, where the weed Purples its plume, or sails its seed: And from one knoll, the vetch makes green, Trailing its glimmering ribbon on,...
Mark: So, Maurice, you sail to-morrow, you say? And you may or may not return? Be sociable, man! for once in a way, Unless you're too old to learn. The shadows are cool by the water side...
Another prospect pleased the builder's eye, And Fashion tenanted (where Fashion wanes) Here in the sorrowful suburban lanes When first these gables rose against the sky. Relic of a romantic taste gone by,...
One misty, moisty morning, when cloudy was the weather, There I met an old man clothed all in leather, clothed all in leather, With cap under his chin, How do you do, how do you do, how do you do, again, again.
Youth has no fear of ill, by no cloudy days annoyed, But the old man's all hath fled, and his hopes have met their doom: The bud hath burst to flower, and the flower been long destroyed,...
Wrap me up in me stockwhip and blanket, And bury me deep down below, Where this piffle and sham won't disgust me, In the land where the coolibahs grow; For I've stayed with some well-to-do people,...
Propped on a stick he viewed the August weald; Squat orchard trees and oasts with painted cowls; A homely, tangled hedge, a corn-stooked field, With sound of barking dogs and farmyard fowls. ...
The orchard lands of Long Ago! O drowsy winds, awake, and blow The snowy blossoms back to me, And all the buds that used to be! Blow back along the grassy ways Of truant feet, and lift the haze...
Two pilgrims on the sand espied An oyster thrown up by the tide. In hope, both swallow'd ocean's fruit; But ere the fact there came dispute. While one stoop'd down to take the prey,...
A woolly little terrier pup Gave vent to yelps distressing, Whereat his mistress took him up And soothed him with caressing, And yet he was not in the least What one would call a handsome beast. ...
So, this is all, the utmost reach Of priestly power the mind to fetter! When laymen think, when women preach, A war of words, a "Pastoral Letter!" Now, shame upon ye, parish Popes!...
The poet thought: ah, I have enough trash! The whores, the theater, and the moon in the city, The dress-shirts, the streets, and smells, The nights and the coaches and the windows,...