"Do you remember me? or are you proud?" Lightly advancing thro' her star-trimm'd crowd, Ianthe said, and lookt into my eyes, "A yes, a yes, to both: for Memory Where you but once have been must ever be,...
Do you remember once, in Paris of glad faces, The night we wandered off under the third moon's rays And, leaving far behind bright streets and busy places,...
They say that I never have written of love, As a writer of songs should do; They say that I never could touch the strings With a touch that is firm and true; They say I know nothing of women and men...
Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand miles away, (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?) Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay, An' dreamin' arl the time O' Plymouth Hoe....
We give the world to understand, Our thriving Dean has purchased land; A purchase which will bring him clear Above his rent four pounds a-year; Provided to improve the ground,...
At draw-gloves we'll play, And prithee let's lay A wager, and let it be this: Who first to the sum Of twenty shall come, Shall have for his winning a kiss.
I hear the bell-rope sawing, And the oil-less axle grind, As I sit alone here drawing What some Gothic brain designed; And I catch the toll that follows From the lagging bell,...
By the blue sky of a clear vision, And by the white light of a great illumination, And by the blood-red of brotherhood, Draw the sword, O Republic! Draw the sword!
You've heard of potters' wheels and potters' hands. I had a dream that told the human tale As well as potters' wheels or potters' hands. I saw a great hand slopping plasmic jelly...
WOULD you that Delville I describe? Believe me, Sir, I will not gibe: For who would be satirical Upon a thing so very small? You scarce upon the borders enter, Before you're at the very centre....
Because her eyes were far too deep And holy for a laugh to leap Across the brink where sorrow tried To drown within the amber tide; Because the looks, whose ripples kissed...
My thought of thee is tortured in my sleep-- Sometimes thou art near beside me, but a cloud Doth grudge me thy pale face, and rise to creep Slowly about thee, to lap thee in a shroud;...
Soldiers are citizens of death's grey land, Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows. In the great hour of destiny they stand, Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows....
Fools laugh at dreamers, and the dreamers smile In answer, if they any answer make: They know that Saxon Alfred could not bake The oaten cakes, but that he snatched his Isle...