Five-and-twenty years have gone Since old William Pollexfen Laid his strong bones down in death By his wife Elizabeth In the grey stone tomb he made. And after twenty years they laid...
In paths untrodden, In the growth by margins of pond-waters, Escaped from the life that exhibits itself, From all the standards hitherto publish'd - from the pleasures, profits, eruditions, conformities,...
A track of moonlight on a quiet lake, Whose small waves on a silver-sanded shore Whisper of peace, and with the low winds make Such harmonies as keep the woods awake,...
When pearl and gold, o'er deeps of musk, The moon curves, silvering the dusk, As in a garden, dreaming, A lily slips its dewy husk A firefly in its gleaming, I of my garden am a guest;...
I hate the common, vulgar herd! Away they scamper when I "booh" 'em! But pretty girls and nice young men Observe a proper silence when I chose to sing my lyrics to 'em....
We Do'set, though we mid be hwomely, Be'nt asheamed to own our pleace; An' we've zome women not uncomely; Nor asheamed to show their feace; We've a mead or two wo'th mowen,...
Wearily, drearily, Half the day long, Flap the great banners High over the stone; Strangely and eerily Sounds the wind's song, Bending the banner-poles.
Long are the days, and three times long the nights. The weary hours are a heavy chain Upon the feet of all Earth's dear delights, Holding them ever prisoners to pain. What shall beguile me to believe again...
Let none misgive we died amiss When here we strove in furious fight: Furious it was; nathless was this Better than tranquil plight, And tame surrender of the Cause Hallowed by hearts and by the laws....
When thou dost eat from off this plate, I charge thee be thou temperate; Unto thine elders at the board Do thou sweet reverence accord; And, though to dignity inclined, Unto the serving-folk be kind;...
The Eagle, stooping from yon snow-blown peaks, For the wild hunter and the Bison seeks, In the changed world below; and finds alone Their graven semblance in the eternal stone
I Marlowe, the father of the sons of song Whose praise is England's crowning praise, above All glories else that crown her, sweet and strong As England, clothed with light and fire of love,...
Poet, a truce to your song! Have you heard the heart sing? Like a brook among trees, Like the humming of bees, Like the ripple of wine: Had you heard, would you stay Blowing bubbles so long?...