Our enemies have fall'n, have fall'n: the seed, The little seed they laugh'd at in the dark, Has risen and cleft the soil, and grown a bulk Of spanless girth, that lays on every side...
As thro' the land of eve we went, And pluck'd the ripen'd ears, We fell out, my wife and I, O, we fell out, I know not why, And kiss'd again with tears. And blessings on the falling out...
The son of him with whom we strove for power' Whose will is lord thro' all his world-domain' Who made the serf a man, and burst his chain' Has given our prince his own imperial Flower, Alexandrovna....
The Lord let the house of a brute to the soul of a man, And the man said, 'Am I your debtor?' And the Lord''Not yet; but make it as clean as you can, And then I will let you a better.'
As when with downcast eyes we muse and brood, And ebb into a former life, or seem To lapse far back in some confused dream To states of mystical similitude,...
Once more the Heavenly Power Makes all things new, And domes the red-plow'd hills With loving blue; The blackbirds have their wills, The throstles too.
O me, my pleasant rambles by the lake, My sweet, wild, fresh three-quarters of a year, My one Oasis in the dust and drouth Of city life! I was a sketcher then: See here, my doing: curves of mountain, bridge,...
Thy dark eyes open'd not, Nor first reveal'd themselves to English air, For there is nothing here Which, from the outward to the inward brought, Moulded thy baby thought....
O thou that sendest out the man To rule by land and sea, Strong mother of a Lion-line, Be proud of those strong sons of thine Who wrench'd their rights from thee!
Long lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm; And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands; Beyond, red roofs about a narrow wharf In cluster; then a moulder'd church; and higher...
Thy prayer was 'Light-more Light-while Time shall last!' Thou rawest a glory growing on the night, But not the shadows which that light would cast, Till shadows vanish in the Light of Light.
Warrior of God, man's friend, and tyrant's foe, Now somewhere dead far in the waste Soudan, Thou livest in all hearts, for all men know This earth has never borne a nobler man.
Thou third great Canning, stand among our best And noblest, now thy long day's work hath ceased, Here silent in our Minster of the West Who wert the voice of England in the East.
O purblind race of miserable men, How many among us at this very hour Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves, By taking true for false, or false for true; Here, through the feeble twilight of this world...
Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round, At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods, Danced like a wither'd leaf before the hall....
That story which the bold Sir Bedivere, First made and latest left of all the knights, Told, when the man was no more than a voice In the white winter of his age, to those...