She was not very beautiful, if it be beauty's test To match a classic model when perfectly at rest; And she did not look bewitchingly, if witchery it be, To have a forehead and a lip transparent as the sea. ...
I love to look on a scene like this, Of wild and careless play, And persuade myself that I am not old And my locks are not yet gray; For it stirs the blood in old man's heart, And makes his pulses fly,...
Down the green slope he bounded. Raven curls From his white shoulders by the winds were swept, And the clear color of his sunny cheek Was bright with motion. Through his open lips...
A servant of the living God is dead! His errand hath been well and early done, And early hath he gone to his reward. He shall come no more forth, but to his sleep Hath silently lain down, and so shall rest....
There stood an unsold captive in the mart, A gray-haired and majestical old man, Chained to a pillar. It was almost night, And the last seller from the place had gone, And not a sound was heard but of a dog...
Lift up thine eyes, sweet Psyche! What is she That those soft fringes timidly should fall Before her, and thy spiritual brow Be shadowed as her presence were a cloud?...
On the cross-beam under the Old South bell The nest of a pigeon is builded well. In summer and winter that bird is there, Out and in with the morning air: I love to see him track the street,...
'Twas a rich night in June. The air was all Fragrance and balm, and the wet leaves were stirred By the soft fingers of the southern wind, And caught the light capriciously, like wings...