If modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd, And every opening virtue blooming round, Could save a parent's justest pride from fate, Or add one patriot to a sinking state;...
This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say, Here lies an honest man: A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate, Whom Heaven kept sacred from the proud and great:...
Under this marble, or under this sill, Or under this turf, or e'en what they will; Whatever an heir, or a friend in his stead, Or any good creature shall lay o'er my head,...
When Eastern lovers feed the funeral fire, On the same pile the faithful pair expire. Here pitying Heaven that virtue mutual found, And blasted both, that it might neither wound....
Hark, hearer, hear what I do; lend a thought now, make believe We are leafwhelmed somewhere with the hood Of some branchy bunchy bushybowered wood, Southern dene or Lancashire clough or Devon cleave,...
He is here, Urania's son, Hymen come from Helicon; God that glads the lover's heart, He is here to join and part. So the groomsman quits your side And the bridegroom seeks the bride:...
"Whom God hath joined" - ah, this sententious phrase A meaning deeper than the sea conveys, And of a sweet and solemn service tells With the rich resonance of wedding-bells;...
Night, with all thine eyes look down! Darkness shed its holiest dew! When ever smiled the inconstant moon On a pair so true? Hence, coy hour! and quench thy light, Lest eyes see their own delight!...
Not to know vice at all, and keepe true state, Is vertue, and not Fate: Next, to that vertue, is to know vice well, And her black spight expell. Which to effect (since no brest is so sure,...
Beyond the night, down o'er the labouring East, I see light's harbinger of dawn released: Upon the false gleam of the ante-dawn, Lo, the fair heaven of day-pursuing morn! ...
I saw a King, who spent his life to weave Into a nation all his great heart thought, Unsatisfied until he should achieve The grand ideal that his manhood sought; Yet as he saw the end within his reach,...
With what thou gavest me, O Master, I have wrought. Such chances, such abilities, To see the end was not for my poor eyes, Thine was the impulse, thine the forming thought.
No bird can sing in tune but that the Lord Sits throned in equity above the heaven, And holds the righteous balance always even; No heart can true response to love afford...
Mother of life and death and all men's days, Earth, whom I chief of all men born would bless, And call thee with more loving lips than theirs Mother, for of this very body of thine...
A dash of yellow sand, Wind-scattered and sun-tanned; Some waves that curl and cream along the margin of the strand; And, creeping close to these Long shores that lounge at ease,...