O my earliest love, who, ere I number'd Ten sweet summers, made my bosom thrill! Will a swallow - or a swift, or some bird - Fly to her and say, I love her still?
O memory! that which I gave thee To guard in thy garner yestreen - Little deeming thou e'er could'st behave thee Thus basely - hath gone from thee clean! Gone, fled, as ere autumn is ended...
Sing, O daughter of heaven, of Peleus' son, of Achilles, Him whose terrible wrath brought thousand woes on Achaia. Many a stalwart soul did it hurl untimely to Hades,...
Scarce midway were we yet, nor yet descried The stone that hides what once was Brasidas: When there drew near a wayfarer from Crete, Young Lycidas, the Muses' votary....
The just man's single-purposed mind Not furious mobs that prompt to ill May move, nor kings' frowns shake his will Which is as rock; not warrior-winds ...
Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath, And stars to set: but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! ...
Ere the morn the East has crimsoned, When the stars are twinkling there, (As they did in Watts's Hymns, and Made him wonder what they were:) When the forest-nymphs are beading...
Now the "rosy morn appearing" Floods with light the dazzled heaven; And the schoolboy groans on hearing That eternal clock strike seven:- Now the waggoner is driving...
One dazzling mass of solid snow Soracte stands; the bent woods fret Beneath their load; and, sharpest-set With frost, the streams have ceased to flow. ...
Spouse of penniless Ibycus, Thus late, bring to a close all thy delinquencies, All thy studious infamy:- Nearing swiftly the grave - (that not an early one) -...
Seek not, for thou shalt not find it, what my end, what thine shall be; Ask not of Chaldaea's science what God wills, Leuconoe: Better far, what comes, to bear it. Haply many a wintry blast...
Lyce, the gods have listened to my prayer; The gods have listened, Lyce. Thou art grey, And still would'st thou seem fair; Still unshamed drink, and play, ...
Bandusia, stainless mirror of the sky! Thine is the flower-crown'd bowl, for thee shall die, When dawns again yon sun, the kid; Whose budding horns, half-seen, half-hid, ...