To-night the sea sends up a gulf-like sound, And ancient rhymes are ringing in my head, The many lilts of song we sang and said, My friend and brother, when we journeyed round...
If spicy-fringed pinks that blush and pale With passions of perfume, - if violets blue That hint of heaven with odor more than hue, - If perfect roses, each a holy Grail...
Thou lowly cot, where first my breath I drew, Past joys endear thee, childhood's past delight; Where each young summer's pictur'd on my view; And, dearer still, the happy winter-night,...
O dear my Country, beautiful and dear, Love cloth not darken sight. God looketh through Love's eyes, whose vision clear Beholds more flaws than keenest Hate hath known....
My gentle Anne, whom heretofore, When I was young, and thou no more Than plaything for a nurse, I danced and fondled on my knee, A kitten both in size and glee, I thank thee for my purse.
Dear Fanny! nine long years ago, While yet the morning sun was low, And rosy with the Eastern glow The landscape smiled - Whilst lowed the newly-waken'd herds - Sweet as the early song of birds,...
O little one, daughter, my dearest, With your smiles and your beautiful curls, And your laughter, the brightest and clearest, O gravest and gayest of girls;
Darling child, to thee I owe, More than others here will know; Thou hast cheered my weary days, With thy coy and winsome ways. When my heart has been most sad, Smile of thine has made me glad;...
Whene'er I go, or whatsoe'er befalls Me in mine age, or foreign funerals, This blessing I will leave thee, ere I go: Prosper thy basket and therein thy dough. Feed on the paste of filberts, or else knead...
Well, then, the promised hour is come at last, The present age of wit obscures the past: Strong were our sires, and as they fought they writ, Conquering with force of arms, and dint of wit:...
Where art thou, oh! my Beautiful? Afar I seek thee sadly, till the day is done, And o'er the splendour of the setting sun, Cold, calm, and silvery, floats the evening star;...
To you, my purse, and to none other wight, Complain I, for ye be my lady dere; I am sorry now that ye be light, For, certes, ye now make me heavy chere; Me were as lefe be laid upon a bere,...
Oh that Pieria's spring1 would thro' my breast Pour its inspiring influence, and rush No rill, but rather an o'erflowing flood! That, for my venerable Father's sake...
Take of the first fruits, Father, of thy care, Wrapped in the fresh leaves of my gratitude Late waked for early gifts ill understood; Claiming in all my harvests rightful share,...
Oh that Pieria's spring[1] would thro' my breast Pour its inspiring influence, and rush No rill, but rather an o'erflowing flood! That, for my venerable Father's sake...
Does he want you down there In the Nether Glooms where The hours may be a dragging load upon him, As he hears the axle grind Round and round Of the great world, in the blind Still profound...