Oh fly! 'tis dire Suspicion's mien; And, meditating plagues unseen, The sorceress hither bends: Behold her torch in gall imbrued: Behold'her garment drops with blood Of lovers and of friends....
Against the cold pale sky The elm tree company rose high. All the fine hues of day That flowered so bold had died away. Only chill blue, faint green, And deepening dark blue were seen. ...
Were I a pet of fair Calliope, I would devote the gifts conferr'd on me To dress in verse old Aesop's lies divine; For verse, and they, and truth, do well combine;...
O Heart, be at peace, because Nor knave nor dolt can break What's not for their applause, Being for a woman's sake. Enough if the work has seemed, So did she your strength renew,...
Ah! ken ye what I met the day Out oure the Mountains A coming down by craggi[e]s grey An mossie fountains A[h] goud hair'd Marie yeve I pray Ane minute's guessing For that I met upon the way...
Uplift the ponderous, golden mask of death, And let the sun shine on him as it did How many thousand years agone! Beneath This worm-defying, uncorrupted lid, Behold the young, heroic face, round-eyed,...
I know a little garden-close, Set thick with lily and red rose, Where I would wander if I might From dewy morn to dewy night, And have one with me wandering.
On hospitable thoughts intent To me the Inner Temple sent An invitation, A garden party 'twas to be, And I accepted readily And with elation; Good reason too, but oft the seeds...
Oh, no; I would not leave thee, my sweet home, Decked with the mantling woodbine and the rose, And slender woods that the still scene inclose, For yon magnificent and ample dome[1]...
Here, in this sequestered close Bloom the hyacinth and rose; Here beside the modest stock Flaunts the flaring hollyhock; Here, without a pang, one sees...
This ugly old crone - Every beauty she had When a maid, when a maid. Her beautiful eyes, Too youthful, too wise, Seemed ever to come To so lightless a home, Cold and dull as a stone....
Age, thou the loss of health and friends shalt mourn! But thou art passing to that night-still bourne, Where labour sleeps. The linnet, chattering loud To the May morn, shall sing; thou, in thy shroud,...
Death, tho' I see him not, is near And grudges me my eightieth year. Now, I would give him all these last For one that fifty have run past. Ah! he strikes all things, all alike,...
Come closer, kind, white, long-familiar friend, Embrace me, fold me to thy broad, soft breast. Life has grown strange and cold, but thou dost bend Mild eyes of blessing wooing to my rest....
We are very slightly changed From the semi-apes who ranged India's Prehistoric clay; He that drew the longest bow Ran his brother down, you know, As we run men down to-tday. ...