Works

O I admire and sorrow! The heart's eye grieves
Discovering you, dark tramplers, tyrant years.
A juice rides rich through bluebells, in vine leaves,
And beauty's dearest veriest vein is tears.


...

M'rgar't, 're you gr'eving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Le'ves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
'h! 's the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder...

1
Though no high-hung bells or din
Of braggart bugles cry it in -
What is sound? Nature's round
Makes the Silver Jubilee.

2
Five and twenty years have run...