Dear Child of Nature, let them rail! There is a nest in a green dale, A harbour and a hold; Where thou, a Wife and Friend, shalt see Thy own heart-stirring days, and be A light to young and old. ...
You, Madam, may, with safety go Decrees of destiny to know; For at your birth kind planets reign'd, And certain happiness ordain'd: Such charms as yours are only given To chosen favourites of Heaven....
Dear Mr. Leno, It is now many happy weeks Since I had the pleasure of addressing you. On the last occasion, you will remember, You were fresh from Sandringham, With a medal and sundry excellent stories...
Dean Bourn, farewell; I never look to see Dean, or thy watery[1] incivility. Thy rocky bottom, that doth tear thy streams And makes them frantic even to all extremes, To my content I never should behold,...
Austin! accept a grateful verse from me, The poet's treasure, no inglorious fee. Loved by the muses, thy ingenuous mind Pleasing requital in my verse may find; Verse oft has dash'd the scythe of Time aside,...
Love love begets, then never be Unsoft to him who's smooth to thee. Tigers and bears, I've heard some say, For proffer'd love will love repay: None are so harsh, but if they find...
We thank you for a noble work well done. There is a kindness - ('tis the truer one; The better part the simpler heart doth know), The care to give the day a brighter sun ...
When Norse nature's dower Tones will paint with power, There is more than mountain-heights that tower, - Plains spread wide-extending, Whereon at their wending...
You with the hawk's eyes and the nerves of steel, How was it with you when the hurried word Roused you and sent you swiftly forth to deal A blow for justice? Sure your pulses stirred,...
I heard that you ask'd for something to prove this puzzle, the New World, And to define America, her athletic Democracy; Therefore I send you my poems, that you behold in them what you wanted.
'Twas you, or I, or he, or all together, 'Twas one, both, three of them, they know not whether; This, I believe, between us great or small, You, I, he, wrote it not 'twas Churchill's all.
The silence of traitorous feet! The silence of close-pent rage! The roar, and the sudden heart-beat! And the shot through the true heart going, The truest heart of the age!...
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? ...
For being comely, consonant, and free To most of men, but most of all to me; For so decreeing that thy clothes' expense Keeps still within a just circumference; Then for contriving so to load thy board...
I pray thee leaue, loue me no more, Call home the Heart you gaue me, I but in vaine that Saint adore, That can, but will not saue me: These poore halfe Kisses kill me quite;...
Can I not come to Thee, my God, for these So very many meeting hindrances, That slack my pace, but yet not make me stay? Who slowly goes, rids, in the end, his way....