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Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea;
The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape,
With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape;
But O too fond, when have I answer'd thee?
Ask me no more....

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me....

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...

Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea;
The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape,
With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape;
But O too fond, when have I answer'd thee?
Ask me no more.
...

Come not, when I am dead,
To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,
To trample round my fallen head,
And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save.
There let the wind sweep and the plover cry;...

I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods:

I envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time,...

I wage not any feud with Death
For changes wrought on form and face;
No lower life that earth's embrace
May breed with him, can fright my faith.

Eternal process moving on,...

There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier
Than all the valleys of Ionian hills.
The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen,
Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine,...

I.
DOSN'T thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awa'y?
Proputty, proputty, proputty'that's what I 'ears 'em sa'y.
Proputty, proputty, proputty'Sam, thou's an ass for thy paa'ns:...

Wheer 'asta be'n saw long and me' liggin' 'ere alo'n?
Noorse? thoort nowt o' a noorse: whoy, doctor's abe'n an' ago'n:
Says that I mo'nt 'a naw moor a'le: but I be'nt a fool:...

When will the stream be aweary of flowing
Under my eye?
When will the wind be aweary of blowing
Over the sky?

When will the clouds be aweary of fleeting?
When will the heart be aweary of beating?...

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.
...

When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free
In the silken sail of infancy,
The tide of time flow'd back with me,
The forward-flowing tide of time;
And many a sheeny summer-morn,...

'none sat within the cave from out
Whose ivy-matted mouth she used to gaze
Down at the Troad; but the goodly view
Was now one blank, and all the serpent vines
Which on the touch of heavenly feet had risen,...

I.
WA'IT till our Sally cooms in, fur thou mun a' sights1 to tell.
Eh, but I be ma'in glad to see' tha sa 'arty an' well.
'Cast awa'y on a disolut land wi' a vartical soon2!'...