Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight of his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold:-...
Amazing monster! that, for aught I know, With the first sight of thee didst make our race For ever stare! O flat and shocking face, Grimly divided from the breast below!...
How sweet it were, if without feeble fright, Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight, An angel came to us, and we could bear To see him issue from the silent air At evening in our room, and bend on ours...
Open the window, and let the air Freshly blow upon face and hair, And fill the room, as it fills the night, With the breath of the rain's sweet might. Hark! the burthen, swift and prone!...
It flows through old hushed Egypt and its sands, Like some grave mighty thought threading a dream, And times and things, as in that vision, seem Keeping along it their eternal stands,--...
I have been reading Pomfret's 'Choice' this spring, A pretty kind of'sort of'kind of thing, Not much a verse, and poem none at all, Yet, as they say, extremely natural....
There is May in books forever; May will part from Spenser never; May's in Milton, May's in Prior, May's in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer; May's in all the Italian books:' She has old and modern nooks,...
It is a lofty feeling, yet a kind, Thus to be topped with leaves;--to have a sense Of honour-shaded thought,--an influence As from great nature's fingers, and be twined...
King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport, And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court; The nobles filled the benches, and the ladies in their pride,...
You strange, astonished-looking, angle-faced, Dreary-mouthed, gaping wretches of the sea, Gulping salt-water everlastingly, Cold-blooded, though with red your blood be graced,...
It lies before me there, and my own breath Stirs its thin outer threads, as though beside The living head I stood in honoured pride, Talking of lovely things that conquer death....
Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June, Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon, When even the bees lag at the summoning brass;...