This sentence have I left behind: An aching body, and a mind Not wholly clear, nor wholly blind, Too keen to rest, too weak to find, That travails sore, and brings forth wind,...
What made my heart, at Newstead, fullest swell? 'Twas not the thought of Byron, of his cry Stormily sweet, his Titan agony; It was the sight of that Lord Arundel ...
In the deserted, moon-blanched street, How lonely rings the echo of my feet! Those windows, which I gaze at, frown, Silent and white, unopening down, Repellent as the world, but see,...
The evening comes, the fields are still. The tinkle of the thirsty rill, Unheard all day, ascends again; Deserted is the half-mown plain, Silent the swaths! the ringing wain,...
One Morn as through Hyde Park we walk'd. My friend and I, by chance we talk'd Of Lessing's famed Laoco'n; And after we awhile had gone In Lessing's track, and tried to see What painting is, what poetry,...
In two small volumes of Poems, published anonymously, one in 1849, the other in 1852, many of the Poems which compose the present volume have already appeared. The rest are now published for the first time. ...
Not in sunk Spain's prolong'd death agony; Not in rich England, bent but to make pour The flood of the world's commerce on her shore; Not in that madhouse, France, from whence the cry...
In the cedar shadow sleeping, Where cool grass and fragrant glooms Oft at noon have lur'd me, creeping From your darken'd palace rooms: I, who in your train at morning...
Rais'd are the dripping oars Silent the boat: the lake, Lovely and soft as a dream, Swims in the sheen of the moon. The mountains stand at its head Clear in the pure June night,...