One broad, white sail in Spezzia's treacherous bay On comes the blast; too daring bark, beware I The cloud has clasped her; to! it melts away; The wide, waste waters, but no sail is there. ...
The brooding ghosts of Australian night have gone from the bush and town; My spirit revives in the morning breeze, though it died when the sun went down;...
The lad I was I longer now Nor am nor shall be evermore. Spring's lovely blossoms from my brow Have shed their petals on the floor. Thou, Love, hast been my lord, thy shrine...
The rain made ruin of the rose and frayed The lily into tatters: now the Morn Looks from the hopeless East with eyes forlorn, As from her attic looks a dull-eyed maid....
Farewell has long been said; I have forgone thee; I never name thee even. But how shall I learn virtues and yet shun thee? For thou art so near Heaven That heavenward meditations pause upon thee. ...
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree Toward heaven still. And there's a barrel that I didn't fill Beside it, and there may be two or three Apples I didn't pick upon some bough....
For the seven times seventh time love would renew the delight without end or alloy That it takes in the praise as it takes in the presence of eyes that fulfil it with joy;...
The railway bore him through An earthen cutting out from a city: There was no scope for view, Though the frail light shed by a slim young moon Fell like a friendly tune.
The day had been a day of wind and storm; The wind was laid, the storm was overpast, And stooping from the zenith bright and warm Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last....
As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side, Much musing on the track of terror past, When o'er the dark wave rode the howling blast, Pleased I look back, and view the tranquil tide...
The hillside smokes With trailing mist around the rosy oaks; While sunset builds A gorgeous Asia in the west she gilds. Auroral streaks Sword through the heavens' Himalayan peaks: In which, behold,...
I be'n down in ole Kentucky Fur a week er two, an' say, 'T wuz ez hard ez breakin' oxen Fur to tear myse'f away. Allus argerin' 'bout fren'ship An' yer hospitality--...
In the sky the howitzers no longer explode, The cannoneers rest next to their guns. The infantry pitch tents now, And the pale moon slowly rises. On yellow fields in red trousers, the French are ablaze,...
Why should I call Thee Lord, Who art my God? Why should I call Thee Friend, Who art my Love? Or King, Who art my very Spouse above? Or call Thy Sceptre on my heart Thy rod?...