And so we twain must part! Oh linger yet, Let me still feed my glance upon thine eyes. Forget not, love, the days of our delight, And I our nights of bliss shall ever prize....
As one who feels the breathless nightmare grip His heart-strings, and through visioned horrors fares, Now on a thin-ledged chasm's rock-crumbling lip,...
"Am I sipping the honey of the lips? Am I drunk with the wine of a kiss? Have I culled the flowers of the cheek, Have I sucked the fresh fragrance of the breath?...
What art thou doing here, O Imagination? Go away I entreat thee by the gods, as thou didst come, for I want thee not. But thou art come according to thy old fashion. I am not angry with thee - only go away....
Now the dreary winter's over, Fled with him are grief and pain, When the trees their bloom recover, Then the soul is born again. Spikenard blossoms shaking, Perfume all the air,...
Over the lamp-lit street, Trodden by hurrying feet, Where mostly pulse and beat Life's throbbing veins, See where the April star, Blue-bright as sapphires are,...
"With tears thy grief thou dost bemoan, Tears that would melt the hardest stone, Oh, wherefore sing'st thou not the vine? Why chant'st thou not the praise of wine? It chases pain with cunning art,...
When the vexed hubbub of our world of gain Roars round about me as I walk the street, The myriad noise of Traffic, and the beat Of Toil's incessant hammer, the fierce strain...
Serene was morning with clear, winnowed air, But threatening soon the low, blue mass of cloud Rose in the west, with mutterings faint and rare At first, but waxing frequent and more loud....
Oft have I brooded on defeat and pain, The pathos of the stupid, stumbling throng. These I ignore to-day and only long To pour my soul forth in one trumpet strain,...
When the stunned soul can first lift tired eyes On her changed world of ruin, waste and wrack, Ah, what a pang of aching sharp surprise Brings all sweet memories of the lost past back,...
It comes not in such wise as she had deemed, Else might she still have clung to her despair. More tender, grateful than she could have dreamed, Fond hands passed pitying over brows and hair,...
Night, and beneath star-blazoned summer skies Behold the Spirit of the musky South, A creole with still-burning, languid eyes, Voluptuous limbs and incense-breathing mouth: Swathed in spun gauze is she,...
DON JOHN of AUSTRIA. JOSEF RIBERA, the Spagnoletto. LORENZO, noble young Italian artist, pupil of Ribera. DON TOMMASO MANZANO. LUCA, servant to Ribera. A GENTLEMAN....
Well-nigh two thousand years hath Israel Suffered the scorn of man for love of God; Endured the outlaw's ban, the yoke, the rod, With perfect patience. Empires rose and fell,...