Sweet, uncultivated blossom, Reared in Spring's refreshing dews, Dear to every gazer's bosom, Fair to every eye that views;-- Opening bud, whose youth can charm us, Thine be many a happy hour:...
You say 'tis plain that poets feign, And from the truth depart; They write with ease what fibs they please, With artifice, not art; Dearer to you the simply true-- The fact without the fancy--...
Sauntering hither on listless wings, Careless vagabond of the sea, Little thou heedest the surf that sings, The bar that thunders, the shale that rings, Give me to keep thy company. ...
When I had wings, my brother, Such wings were mine as thine: Such life my heart remembers In all as wild Septembers As this when life seems other, Though sweet, than once was mine;...
Let thy wheel-barrow alone Wherefore, Sexton, piling still In thy bone-house bone on bone? 'Tis already like a hill In a field of battle made, Where three thousand skulls are laid;...
If you have revisited the town, thin Shade, Whether to look upon your monument (I wonder if the builder has been paid) Or happier thoughted when the day is spent To drink of that salt breath out of the sea...
Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?...
Up with me! up with me into the clouds! For thy song, Lark, is strong; Up with me, up with me into the clouds! Singing, singing, With clouds and sky about thee ringing, Lift me, guide me till I find...
And thou, twin orbs of love and joy! Unveil thy glories with the morn-- Dear eyes, another day is born-- Awake, O little sleeping boy! Bright are the summer morning skies, But in this quiet little room...
Sleep on! Sleep on! beguiling The hours with happy rest. Sleep! - by that dreamy smiling, I know that thou art blest. Thy mother over thee hath leant To guard thee from annoy,...
Oh, 'tis a touching thing, to make one weep, - A tender infant with its curtain'd eye, Breathing as it would neither live nor die With that unchanging countenance of sleep!...
Thine eyelids slept so beauteously, I deem'd No eyes could wake so beautiful as they: Thy rosy cheeks in such still slumbers lay, I loved their peacefulness, nor ever dream'd...
Lone Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they But hardier far, once more I see thee bend Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend, Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day,...