Heed not the cock-sure tourist, Seeing with English eyes; Stroked at the banquet table Still, with the old stock lies, Pet of a social circle, Guest in a garden fair,...
There was a glorious time At an epoch of my prime; Mornings beryl-bespread, And evenings golden-red; Nothing gray: And in my heart I said, "However this chanced to be, It is too full for me,...
"Ye have robbed," said he, "ye have slaughtered and made an end, Take your ill-got plunder, and bury the dead: What will ye more of your guest and sometime friend?" "Blood for our blood," they said. ...
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...
He had his dream, and all through life, Worked up to it through toil and strife. Afloat fore'er before his eyes, It colored for him all his skies: The storm-cloud dark Above his bark,...
Tell a simple little story of a settler in the West, Where the soldier birds and farmers, and selectors never rest While the sun shines, and they often work in rainy weather, too:...
We were now in the midmost Maytime, in the full green flood of the Spring, When the air is sweet all the daytime with the blossoms and birds that sing;...
I wander by the edge Of this desolate lake Where wind cries in the sedge: i(Until the axle break That keeps the stars in their round, And hands hurl in the deep The banners of East and West,...
Of whispering trees the tongues to hear, And sermons of the silent stone; To read in brooks the print so clear Of motion, shadowy light, and tone-- That man hath neither eye nor ear...
Now heaven in mercy be kind to the wretch, Who marries for money or fashion or folly; He'd better accept of the noose of Jack Ketch Than such a "help-meet;" or at once marry Dolly...
Far-Off the lily-statues stand white-ranked in the garden at home. Would God they were shattered quickly, the cattle would tread them out in the loam. I wish the elder trees in flower could suddenly heave, and burst...
'Henri Heine', , 'tis here! The black tombstone, the name Carved there, no more! and the smooth, Swarded alleys, the limes Touch'd with yellow by hot Summer, but under them still...