Fresh morning gusts have blown away all fear From my glad bosom, now from gloominess I mount for ever not an atom less Than the proud laurel shall content my bier. No! by the eternal stars! or why sit here...
Why did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell No God, no Demon of severe response, Deigns to reply from Heaven or from Hell Then to my human heart I turn at once: Heart! Thou and I are here sad and alone;...
O golden-tongued Romance with serene lute! Fair plumed Syren! Queen of far away! Leave melodizing on this wintry day, Shut up thine olden pages, and be mute: Adieu! for once again the fierce dispute,...
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,...
This pleasant tale is like a little copse: The honied lines do freshly interlace, To keep the reader in so sweet a place, So that he here and there full hearted stops; And oftentimes he feels the dewy drops...
Give me a golden pen, and let me lean On heaped-up flowers, in regions clear, and far; Bring me a tablet whiter than a star, Or hand of hymning angel, when 'tis seen...
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told...
To one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament....
Here all the summer could I stay, For there's Bishop's teign And King's teign And Coomb at the clear Teign head Where close by the stream You may have your cream...
Where be ye going, you Devon maid? And what have ye there i' the basket? Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy, Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?
This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb, So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights...
What though while the wonders of nature exploring, I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend; Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring, Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiast's friend: ...
O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind, Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars, To thee the spring will be a harvest-time....