There was once a town, the inhabitants of which were so passionately fond of poetry, that if some weeks passed by without the appearance of any good new poems, they regarded such a poetic dearth as a public misfortune. ...
Out of the mud two strangers came And caught me splitting wood in the yard, And one of them put me off my aim By hailing cheerily "Hit them hard!" I knew pretty well why he had dropped behind...
O wanton one, O wicked one, how was it that you came, Down from the paths of purity, to walk the streets of shame? And wherefore was that precious wealth, God gave to you in trust,...
One looks into the sun lawn, and the steep Curved slopes of hills, set sharp against the sky, With tufted woods encinctured, waving high O'er vales below, where broken shadows sleep....
Into the shadow-white chamber silts the white Flux of another dawn. The wind that all night Long has waited restless, suddenly wafts A whirl like snow from the plum-trees and the pear,...
I know two women, and one is chaste And cold as the snows on a winter waste, Stainless ever in act and thought (As a man, born dumb, in speech errs not). But she has malice toward her kind,...
Has no one said those daring Kind eyes should be more learn'd? Or warned you how despairing The moths are when they are burned? I could have warned you; but you are young,...
They thought him a magician, Tycho Brahe, Who lived on that strange island in the Sound, Nine miles from Elsinore. His legend reached The Mermaid Inn the year that Shakespeare died....
Once on the top of Tynwald's formal mound (Still marked with green turf circles narrowing Stage above stage) would sit this Island's King, The laws to promulgate, enrobed and crowned:...
The Editor wrote his political screed In ink that was fainter and fainter; He rose to the call of his country's need, And in spiderish characters wrote with speed, A column on "Cutting the Painter". ...