O Rose! who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet; But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat, Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee. ...
I think we are too ready with complaint In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope Of yon gray blank of sky, we might grow faint To muse upon eternity's constraint...
Wordsworth upon Helvellyn! Let the cloud Ebb audibly along the mountain-wind, Then break against the rock, and show behind The lowland valleys floating up to crowd...
'My lips do need thy breath, My lips do need thy smile, And my pallid eyne, that light in thine Which met the stars erewhile: Yet go with light and life If that thou lovest one...
I. I stand on the mark beside the shore Of the first white pilgrim's bended knee, Where exile turned to ancestor, And God was thanked for liberty. I have run through the night, my skin is as dark,...
True genius, but true woman! dost deny The woman's nature with a manly scorn And break away the gauds and armlets worn By weaker women in captivity? Ah, vain denial! that revolted cry...