How like is childhood to the lucid tide That calmly wanders thro' the mossy dell, Sweeps o'er the lily by the margin's side, And, as it kisses, murmurs out, Farewell!
Old Winter, with his frosty beard, Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd, What have I done of all the year, To bear this hated doom severe? My cheerless suns no pleasure know;...
Whilst, in a dress that one might swear The whole was made of woven air, Pert Fashion spreads her senseless sway Over the giddy and the gay (Who think, by showing all their charms,...
The ways of Death are soothing and serene, And all the words of Death are grave and sweet. From camp and church, the fireside and the street, She beckons forth - and strife and song have been. ...
Away, haunt thou me not, Thou vain Philosophy! Little hast thou bestead, Save to perplex the head, And leave the spirit dead. Unto thy broken cisterns wherefore go,...
Away, haunt thou me not, Thou vain Philosophy! Little hast thou bestead, Save to perplex the head, And leave the spirit dead. Unto thy broken cisterns wherefore go,...
The darkened street was muffled with the snow, The falling flakes had made your shoulders white, And when we found a shelter from the night Its glamor fell upon us like a blow....
Through the low grey archway children's feet that pass Quicken, glad to find the sweetest haunt of all. Brightest wildflowers gleaming deep in lustiest grass,...
On a morning sick as the day of doom With the drizzling gray Of an English May, There were few in the railway waiting-room. About its walls were framed and varnished...
The hush of death is on the night. The corn, That loves to whisper to the wind; the leaves, That dance with it, are silent: one perceives No motion mid the fields, as dry as horn....
In due observance of an ancient rite, The rude Biscayans, when their children lie Dead in the sinless time of infancy, Attire the peaceful corse in vestments white;...
Honour is flashed off exploit, so we say; And those strokes once that gashed flesh or galled shield Should tongue that time now, trumpet now that field, And, on the fighter, forge his glorious day....
Stranger! a while beneath this aged tree Rest thee, the hills beyond, and flowery meads, Surveying; and if Nature's charms may wake A sweet and silent transport at thine heart,...
Thou art sleeping, brother, sleeping In thy lonely battle grave; Shadows o'er the past are creeping, Death, the reaper, still is reaping, Years have swept, and years are sweeping...