Of all the wind-blown dust of faces fair, Had I a god's re-animating breath, Thee, like a perfumed torch in the dim air Lethean and the eyeless halls of death, Would I relume; the cresset of thine hair,...
Poor are the gifts of the poet - Nothing but words! The gifts of kings are gold, Silver, and flocks and herds, Garments of strange soft silk, Feathers of wonderful birds,...
Always thy book, too late acknowledged thine, Now when thine eyes no earthly page may read; Blinded with death, or blinded with the shine Of love's own lore celestial. Small need,...
Too late I bring my heart, too late 'tis yours; Too late to bring the true love that endures; Too long, unthrift, I gave it here and there, Spent it in idle love and idle song;...
Why did you go away without one word, Wave of the hand, or token of good-bye, Nor leave some message for me with flower or bird, Some sign to find you by;
When you and I were younger the world was passing fair; Our days were sped with laughter, our steps were free as air; Life lightly lured us onward, and ceased not to unroll...
Poet, whose words are like the tight-packed seed Sealed in the capsule of a silver flower, Still at your art we wonder as we read, The art dynamic charging each word with power. ...
With laughter always on the darkest day, She danced before the very face of dread, Starry companion of my mortal way, Pre-destined merrily to be my mate, With eyes as calm, she met the eyes of Fate:...
If after times Should pay the least attention to these rhymes, I bid them learn 'Tis not my own heart here That doth so often seem to break and burn - O no such thing! - Nor is it my own dear...
Art was a palace once, things great and fair, And strong and holy, found a temple there: Now 'tis a lazar-house of leprous men. O shall me hear an English song again!...
Vast and mysterious brother, ere was yet of me So much as men may poise upon a needle's end, Still shook with laughter all this monstrous might of thee, And still with haughty crest it called the morning friend....
Your birthday, sweetheart, is my birthday too, For, had you not been born, I who began to live beholding you Up early as the morn, That day in June beside the rose-hung stream, Had never lived at all -...
The fight I loved - the good old fight - Was clear as day 'twixt Might and Right; Satrap and slave on either hand, Tiller and tyrant of the land; One delved the earth the other trod,...
We are with France - not by the ties Of treaties made with tongue in cheek, The ancient diplomatic lies, The paper promises that seek To hide the long maturing guile, Planning destruction with a smile....
What of the darkness? Is it very fair? Are there great calms and find ye silence there? Like soft-shut lilies all your faces glow With some strange peace our faces never know,...
When the long day has faded to its end, The flowers gone, and all the singing done, And there is no companion left save Death - Ah! there is one, Though in her grave she lies this many a year,...
Who was it swept against my door just now, With rustling robes like Autumn's - was it thou? Ah! would it were thy gown against my door - Only thy gown once more. ...
Winter, some call thee fair, Yea! flatter thy cold face With vain compare Of all thy glittering ways And magic snows With summer and the rose; Thy phantom flowers And fretted traceries...
Winter that hath few friends yet numbers those Of spirit erect and delicate of eye; All may applaud sweet Summer, with her rose, And Autumn, with her banners in the sky;...
Dear Heart, this is my book of boyish song, The changing story of the wandering quest That found at last its ending in thy breast - The love it sought and sang astray so long...