Delayed till she had ceased to know, Delayed till in its vest of snow Her loving bosom lay. An hour behind the fleeting breath, Later by just an hour than death, -- Oh, lagging yesterday! ...
How should I know, That day when first we met, I Would be a day I never can forget? And yet 'tis so. That clasp of hands that made my heartstrings thrill,...
I looked upon a dead girl's face and heard What seemed the voice of Love call unto me Out of her heart; whereon the charactery Of her lost dreams I read there word for word:...
"My house is thatched with violet leaves And paved with daisies fine, Scarlet berries droop over its eaves, Tall grasses round it shine; With softest down I have lined my nest,...
Oh, let me plead with thee to have a nook, A garden nook, not far from thy domain, That there, with harp, and voice, and poet-book, I may be true to thee, and, passion-fain,...
Here's to Lady Nicotine! Saint and Sorceress and Queen! Saint, whose purple halo rings Lift our eyes from earthly things; Witch, whose wand of scented briar Transmutes dead weeds to fragrant fire;...
Too young for love? Ah, say not so! Tell reddening rose-buds not to blow Wait not for spring to pass away, - Love's summer months begin with May! Too young for love? Ah, say not so!...
Live, live with me, and thou shalt see The pleasures I'll prepare for thee: What sweets the country can afford Shall bless thy bed, and bless thy board. The soft sweet moss shall be thy bed,...
It lies before me there, and my own breath Stirs its thin outer threads, as though beside The living head I stood in honoured pride, Talking of lovely things that conquer death....
What though while the wonders of nature exploring, I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend; Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring, Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiast's friend: ...
By Sylvia if thy charming self be meant; If friendship be thy virgin vows' extent, O! let me in Aminta's praises join, Hers my esteem shall be, my passion thine. When for thy head the garland I prepare,...
Beloved, thou art like a tune that idle fingers Play on a window-pane. The time is there, the form of music lingers; But O thou sweetest strain, Where is thy soul? Thou liest i' the wind and rain. ...
Beloved, thou art like a tune that idle fingers Play on a window-pane. The time is there, the form of music lingers; But O thou sweetest strain, Where is thy soul? Thou liest i' the wind and rain. ...
With triumph, this morning, oh Boston! I hail The stir of thy deck and the spread of thy sail, For they tell me I soon shall be wafted, in thee, To the flourishing isle of the brave and the free,...