A region desolate and wild. Black, chafing water: and afloat, And lonely as a truant child In a waste wood, a single boat: No mast, no sails are set thereon; It moves, but never moveth on:...
'Henri Heine', , 'tis here! The black tombstone, the name Carved there, no more! and the smooth, Swarded alleys, the limes Touch'd with yellow by hot Summer, but under them still...
Omit, omit, my simple friend, Still to inquire how parties tend, Or what we fix with foreign powers. If France and we are really friends, And what the Russian Czar intends, Is no concern of ours. ...
What mortal, when he saw, Life's voyage done, his heavenly Friend, Could ever yet dare tell him fearlessly: 'I have kept uninfring'd my nature's law; The inly-written chart thou gayest me...
Foil'd by our fellow-men, depress'd, outworn, We leave the brutal world to take its way, And, Patience! in another life, we say The world shall be thrust down, and we up-borne. ...
If, in the silent mind of One all-pure, At first imagin'd lay The sacred world; and by procession sure From those still deeps, in form and colour drest, Seasons alternating, and night and day,...
A year had flown, and o'er the sea away, In Cornwall, Tristram and Queen Iseult lay; In King Marc's chapel, in Tyntagel old There in a ship they bore those lovers cold....
Raise the light, my page! that I may see her. Thou art come at last, then, haughty Queen! Long I've waited, long I've fought my fever; Late thou comest, cruel thou hast been.
We were apart; yet, day by day, I bade my heart more constant be. I bade it keep the world away, And grow a home for only thee; Nor fear'd but thy love likewise grew,...
Forth from the East, up the ascent of Heaven, Day drove his courser with the Shining Mane; And in Valhalla, from his gable perch, The golden-crested Cock began to crow:...
Yes, now the longing is o'erpast, Which, dogg'd by fear and fought by shame, Shook her weak bosom day and night, Consum'd her beauty like a flame, And dimm'd it like the desert blast....
In this lone, open glade I lie, Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand; And at its end, to stay the eye, Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand!
As the sky-brightening south-wind clears the day, And makes the mass'd clouds roll, The music of the lyre blows away The clouds that wrap the soul. ...
Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Greece, Long since, saw Byron's struggle cease. But one such death remain'd to come; The last poetic voice is dumb We stand to-day by Wordsworth's tomb. ...
Silent, the Lord of the world Eyes from the heavenly height, Girt by his far-shining train, Us, who with banners unfurl'd Fight life's many-chanc'd fight Madly below, in the plain. ...
'Oh could thy grave at home, at Carthage, be!' Care not for that, and lay me where I fall. Everywhere heard will be the judgment-call. But at God's altar, oh! remember me. ...
We cannot kindle when we will The fire which in the heart resides; The spirit bloweth and is still, In mystery our soul abides. But tasks in hours of insight will'd...
"Not by the justice that my father spurn'd, Not for the thousands whom my father slew, Altars unfed and temples overturn'd, Cold hearts and thankless tongues, where thanks are due;...