Once, when beside me in that sacred place I saw my lady lift her lovely head, And saw the Chalice gleam above her face And her dear lips with life immortal red, Then, born again beyond the mist of years,...
When late I watched the arrows of the sleet Against the windows of the Tavern beat, I heard a Rose that murmured from her Pot: "Why trudge thy fellows yonder in the Street?
England! where the sacred flame Burns before the inmost shrine, Where the lips that love thy name Consecrate their hopes and thine, Where the banners of thy dead Weave their shadows overhead,...
To Youth there comes a whisper out of the west: "O loiterer, hasten where there waits for thee A life to build, a love therein to nest, And a man's work, serving the age to be." ...
My Clare,-- These tales were told, you know, In French, five hundred years ago, By old Sir John, whose heart's delight Was lady sweet and valiant knight....
There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night--- Ten to make and the match to win--- A bumping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play and the last man in. And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,...
"Time mocks thy opening music with a close; What now he gives long since he gave away. Thou deemst thy sun hath risen, but ere it rose It was eclipsed, and dusk shall be thy day."...
Beside the placid sea that mirrored her With the old glory of dawn that cannot die, The sleeping city began to moan and stir, As one that fain from an ill dream would fly;...
Drake in the North Sea grimly prowling, Treading his dear Revenge's deck, Watched, with the sea-dogs round him growling, Galleons drifting wreck by wreck. "Fetter and Faith for England's neck,...
When I remember that the day will come For this our love to quit his land of birth, And bid farewell to all the ways of earth With lips that must for evermore be dumb, ...
Among the woods and tillage That fringe the topmost downs, All lonely lies the village, Far off from seas and towns. Yet when her own folk slumbered I heard within her street...
His song of dawn outsoars the joyful bird, Swift on the weary road his footfall comes; The dusty air that by his stride is stirred Beats with a buoyant march of fairy drums....