Vain is the effort to forget. Some day I shall be cold, I know, As is the eternal moon-lit snow Of the high Alps, to which I go: But ah, not yet! not yet!
In paris all look'd hot and like to fade. Brown in the garden of the Tuileries, Brown with September, droop'd the chestnut-trees. 'Twas dawn; a brougham roll'd through the streets, and made ...
Children (as such forgive them) have I known, Ever in their own eager pastime bent To make the incurious bystander, intent On his own swarming thoughts, an interest own;...
To die be given us, or attain! Fierce work it were, to do again. So pilgrims, bound for Mecca, pray'd At burning noon: so warriors said, Scarf'd with the cross, who watch'd the miles...
Before Man parted for this earthly strand, While yet upon the verge of heaven he stood, God put a heap of letters in his hand, And bade him make with them what word he could. ...
Murmur of living! Stir of existence! Soul of the world! Make, oh make yourselves felt To the dying spirit of Youth. Come, like the breath of the spring. Leave not a human soul...
Coldly, sadly descends The autumn-evening. The field Strewn with its dank yellow drifts Of wither'd leaves, and the elms, Fade into dimness apace, Silent; hardly a shout...
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all the Tartar camp along the stream Was hush'd, and still the men were plunged in sleep;...
Still glides the stream, slow drops the boat Under the rustling poplars' shade; Silent the swans beside us float None speaks, none heeds ah, turn thy head.
Faster, faster, O Circe, Goddess, Let the wild, thronging train The bright procession Of eddying forms, Sweep through my soul! Thou standest, smiling Down on me! thy right arm,...
God knows it, I am with you. If to prize Those virtues, priz'd and practis'd by too few, But priz'd, but lov'd, but eminent in you, Man's fundamental life: if to despise The barren optimistic sophistries...
God knows it, I am with you. If to prize Those virtues, priz'd and practis'd by too few, But priz'd, but lov'd, but eminent in you, Man's fundamental life: if to despise The barren optimistic sophistries...
Yet, when I muse on what life is, I seem Rather to patience prompted, than that prowl Prospect of hope which France proclaims so loud, France, fam'd in all great arts, in none supreme....
'Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd, With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal millions live alone. The islands feel the enclasping flow,...