I ne'er was struck before that hour With love so sudden and so sweet. Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower And stole my heart away complete. My face turned pale as deadly pale,...
"No, no! Leave me not in this dark hour," She cried. And I, "Thou foolish dear, but call not dark this hour; What night doth lour?" And nought did she reply, But in her eye...
O my earliest love, who, ere I number'd Ten sweet summers, made my bosom thrill! Will a swallow - or a swift, or some bird - Fly to her and say, I love her still?
When divine Art conceives a form and face, She bids the craftsman for his first essay To shape a simple model in mere clay: This is the earliest birth of Art's embrace....
A day is drawing to its fall I had not dreamed to see; The first of many to enthrall My spirit, will it be? Or is this eve the end of all Such new delight for me? ...
I do remember how, when very young, I saw the great sea first, and heard its swell As I drew nearer, caught within the spell Of its vast size and its mysterious tongue....
The fir trees taper into twigs and wear The rich blue green of summer all the year, Softening the roughest tempest almost calm And offering shelter ever still and warm...