An ancient chestnut's blossoms threw Their heavy odour over two: Leucippe, it is said, was one; The other, then, was Alciphron. 'Come, come! why should we stand beneath?'...
The leaves are falling; so am I; The few late flowers have moisture in the eye; So have I too. Scarcely on any bough is heard Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird The whole wood through. ...
Lately our poets loiter'd in green lanes, Content to catch the ballads of the plains; I fancied I had strength enough to climb A loftier station at no distant time, And might securely from intrusion doze...
Leaf after leaf drops off, flower after flower, Some in the chill, some in the warmer hour: Alike they flourish and alike they fall, And Earth who nourisht them receives them all....
Is it not better at an early hour In its calm cell to rest the weary head, While birds are singing and while blooms the bower, Than sit the fire out and go starv'd to bed?
Borgia, thou once wert almost too august And high for adoration; now thou 'rt dust; All that remains of thee these plaits unfold, Calm hair meandering in pellucid gold.
Borgia, thou once wert almost too august And high for adoration; now thou'rt dust. All that remains of thee these plaits unfold, Calm hair, meandering in pellucid gold.
She I love (alas in vain!) Floats before my slumbering eyes: When she comes she lulls my pain, When she goes what pangs arise! Thou whom love, whom memory flies, Gentle Sleep! prolong thy reign!...
Now thou art gone, tho' not gone far, It seems that there are worlds between us; Shine here again, thou wandering star! Earth's planet! and return with Venus.
I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone, I feel I am alone. I check'd him while he spoke; yet, could he speak, Alas! I would not check. For reasons not to love him once I sought,...
You smil'd, you spoke, and I believ'd, By every word and smile deceiv'd. Another man would hope no more; Nor hope I what I hop'd before: But let not this last wish be vain; Deceive, deceive me once again!
Very true, the linnets sing Sweetest in the leaves of spring: You have found in all these leaves That which changes and deceives, And, to pine by sun or star, Left them, false ones as they are....
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:...