"Who first invented work?" asks Elia, he Whose life to an ungenial task was wed, And answers, "Satan"; but it could not be - On idleness his foul ambition fed; By idleness the heavenly domiciles...
Among white peaks a rock, hewn altar-wise, Marks the long frontier of our mighty lands. Apart its dark tremendous sculpture stands, Too steep for snow, and square against the skies....
It's my opinion - though I own In thinking so I'm quite alone - In some respects I'm but a fright. YOU like my features, I suppose? I'M disappointed with my nose:...
I. All June I bound the rose in sheaves. Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves And strew them where Pauline may pass. She will not turn aside? Alas! Let them lie. Suppose they die?...
She told how they used to form for the country dances - "The Triumph," "The New-rigged Ship" - To the light of the guttering wax in the panelled manses,...
With her 't is well now. She died young, With all her hope and faith unmarred, Nor lived to see the pearls, Love strung, Without regard, Cast, lost among The disillusions that make life so hard....
He was not learned in any art; But Nature led him by the hand; And spoke her language to his heart So he could hear and understand: He loved her simply as a child;...
I have a fellowship with every shade Of changing nature: with the tempest hour My soul goes forth to claim her early dower Of living princedom; and her wings have staid Amidst the wildest uproar undismayed!...
I don't care whether I am beautiful to you You other women. Nothing of me that you see is my own; A man balances, bone unto bone Balances, everything thrown In the scale, you other women. ...
I There they are, my fifty men and women Naming me the fifty poems finished! Take them, Love, the book and me together: Where the heart lies, let the brain lie also. ...
"Thou great First Cause," Creator, King, and Lord, The worm that breathed at Thy commanding word, And dies whene'er Thou wilt, presumptuous man, Has dared the mazes of Thy path to scan;...
We poets pride ourselves on what We feel, and not what we achieve; The world may call our children fools, Enough for us that we conceive. A little wren that loves the grass Can be as proud as any lark...
Methought I saw my late espoused Saint Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave, Whom Joves great Son to her glad Husband gave, Rescu'd from death by force though pale and faint....
Hail to thee, Cambria! for the unfettered wind Which from thy wilds even now methinks I feel, Chasing the clouds that roll in wrath behind, And tightening the soul's laxest nerves to steel;...
The spring shall visit thee again, Itchin! and yonder ancient fane,[1] That casts its shadow on thy breast, As if, by many winters beat, The blooming season it would greet,...
No sooner come, but gone, and fal'n asleep, Acquaintance short, yet parting caus'd us weep. Three flours, two scarcely blown, the last i'th' bud, Cropt by th' Almighties hand; yet is he good,...
A bard, grown desirous of saving his pelf, Built a house he was sure would hold none but himself. This enraged god Apollo, who Mercury sent, And bid him go ask what his votary meant?...