Works

Blue is the Adrian sea, and darkly blue
The 'gean; and the shafted sun thro' them,
That fishes grope to, gives the beamy hue
Rayed from her iris's deep diadem.

To the Fountain of my long Dream,
To the Chalice of all my Sorrow,
To the Lamp held up, and the Stream
Of Light that beacons the Morrow;

To the Bow, the Quiver and Dart,...

Before you pass and leave me gaunt and chill
Alone to do what I have joyed in doing
In your glad sight, suffer me, nor take ill
If I confess you prize and me pursuing.
As the rapt Tuscan lifted up his eyes...

I cannot add one tendril to your bays,
Worn quietly where who love you sing your praise;
But I may stand
Among the household throng with lifted hand,
Upholding for sweet honour of the land...