As one who will reseek her home of light, Thy form immortal to this prison-house Descended, like an angel piteous, To heal all hearts and make the whole world bright....
Fasten your hair with a golden pin, And bind up every wandering tress; I bade my heart build these poor rhymes: It worked at them, day out, day in, Building a sorrowful loveliness...
The battles ended, ardent Paris dead, Of faithful Menelaus long bereft, Time is the only suitor who is left: Helen survives, with youth and beauty fled. By hate remembered, but by love forgot,...
Sing of the end of Troy, and of that flood Of passion by the blood Of heroes consecrate, by poet's craft Hallowed, if that thin waft Of godhead blown upon thee stretch thy song...
De Hen-roost Man he'll preach about Paul, An' James an' John, an' Herod, an' all, But nuver a word about Peter, oh, no! He's afeard he'll hear dat rooster crow. An' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat,...
When my arms wrap you round I press My heart upon the loveliness That has long faded from the world; The jewelled crowns that kings have hurled In shadowy pools, when armies fled;...
O Curlew, cry no more in the air, Or only to the water in the West; Because your crying brings to my mind passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy hair That was shaken out over my breast:...
I should not have shown in the flesh, I ought to have gone as a ghost; It was awkward, unseemly almost, Standing solidly there as when fresh, Pink, tiny, crisp-curled, My pinions yet furled...
Con the dead page as 'twere live love: press on! Cold wisdom's words will ease thy track for thee; Aye, go; cast off sweet ways, and leave me wan To biting blasts that are intent on me. ...
As Nancy at her toilette sat, Admiring this, and blaming that, Tell me, she said, but tell me true, The nymph who could your heart subdue. What sort of charms does she possess?...
The stag to the east is not asleep, he does not stop from bellowing; though he is in the woods of the blackbirds, sleep is not in his mind; the hornless doe is not asleep, crying after her speckled fawn; she is going over the b...
Browning contributed the money he earned by this poem to the people of Paris suffering from the Franco-Prussian War. Herv' Riel appeared in the Cornhill Magazine for March, 1871, and the publisher, Mr. George Smith, paid one hu...
He that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires: As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away. ...
You could be president as well as not, Since all you'd have to do is think you were, With that imagination that you've got; Or multimillionaire if you prefer, Or you could be some famous football star,...