I sing the fates of Gebir. He had dwelt Among those mountain-caverns which retain His labours yet, vast halls and flowing wells, Nor have forgotten their old master's name...
"You must give back," her mother said, To a poor sobbing little maid, "All the young man has given you, Hard as it now may seem to do." "'Tis done already, mother dear!"...
God scatters beauty as he scatters flowers O'er the wide earth, and tells us all are ours. A hundred lights in every temple burn, And at each shrine I bend my knee in turn.
Beautiful spoils! borne off from vanquish'd death! Upon my heart's high altar shall ye lie, Mov'd but by only one adorer's breath, Retaining youth, rewarding constancy.
With rosy hand a little girl prest down A boss of fresh-cull'd cowslips in a rill: Often as they sprang up again, a frown Show'd she disliked resistance to her will:...