For the seven times seventh time love would renew the delight without end or alloy That it takes in the praise as it takes in the presence of eyes that fulfil it with joy;...
Three men lived yet when this dead man was young Whose names and words endure for ever one: Whose eyes grew dim with straining toward the sun, And his wings weakened, and his angel's tongue...
Along these low pleached lanes, on such a day, So soft a day as this, through shade and sun, With glad grave eyes that scanned the glad wild way, And heart still hovering o'er a song begun,...
If the rose of all flowers be the rarest That heaven may adore from above, And the fervent moss-rose be the fairest That sweetens the summer with love, Can it be that a fairer than any...
Some die singing, and some die swinging, And weel mot a' they be: Some die playing, and some die praying, And I wot sae winna we, my dear, And I wot sae winna we. Some die sailing, and some die wailing,...
The rose to the wind has yielded: all its leaves Lie strewn on the graveyard grass, and all their light And colour and fragrance leave our sense and sight Bereft as a man whom bitter time bereaves...
Babe, if rhyme be none For that sweet small word Babe, the sweetest one Ever heard, Right it is and meet Rhyme should keep not true Time with such a sweet Thing as you....
Death, I would plead against thy wrong, Who hast reft me of my love, my wife, And art not satiate yet with strife, But needs wilt hold me lingering long. No strength since then has kept me strong:...
Theleme is afar on the waters, adrift and afar, Afar and afloat on the waters that flicker and gleam, And we feel but her fragrance and see but the shadows that mar Theleme....
I The clearest eyes in all the world they read With sense more keen and spirit of sight more true Than burns and thrills in sunrise, when the dew Flames, and absorbs the glory round it shed,...
Songs light as these may sound, though deep and strong The heart spake through them, scarce should hope to please Ears tuned to strains of loftier thoughts than throng...
Through the low grey archway children's feet that pass Quicken, glad to find the sweetest haunt of all. Brightest wildflowers gleaming deep in lustiest grass,...
Bill, I feel far from quite right if not further: already the pill Seems, if I may say so, to bubble inside me. A poet's heart, Bill, Is a sort of a thing that is made of the tenderest young bloom on a fruit....
Night or light is it now, wherein Sleeps, shut out from the wild world's din, Wakes, alive with a life more clear, One who found not on earth his kin? Sleep were sweet for awhile, were dear...
A light of blameless laughter, fancy-bred, Soft-souled and glad and kind as love or sleep, Fades, and sweet mirth's own eyes are fain to weep Because her blithe and gentlest bird is dead....