Belov'd, I would tell a ghostly thing That hides beneath the simple name of Spring; Wild beyond hope the news - the dead return, The shapes that slept, their breath a frozen mist,...
The loveliest face! I turned to her Shut in 'mid savage rocks and trees; - 'Twas in the May-time of the year, And our two hearts were filled with ease - And pointed where a wild-rose grew,...
O bird that somewhere yonder sings, In the dim hour 'twixt dreams and dawn, Lone in the hush of sleeping things, In some sky sanctuary withdrawn; Your perfect song is too like pain,...
You that would break with the Past, Why with so rude a gesture take your leave? None hinders, go your way; but wherefore cast Contempt and boorish scorn Upon the womb from which even you were born?...
And is it true indeed, and must you go, Set out alone across that moorland track, No love avail, though we have loved you so, No voice have any power to call you back?...
Strange little spring, by channels past our telling, Gentle, resistless, welling, welling, welling; Through what blind ways, we know not whence You darkling come to dance and dimple - Strange little spring!...
As one, the secret lover of a queen, Watches her move within the people's eye, Hears their poor chatter as she passes by, And smiles to think of what his eyes have seen;...
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;
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...
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....
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. ...
But, Song, arise thee on a greater wing, Nor twitter robin-like of love, nor sing A pretty dalliance with grief - but try Some metre like a sky, Wherein to set Stars that may linger yet...
I make this rhyme of my lady and me To give me ease of my misery, Of my lady and me I make this rhyme For lovers in the after-time. And I weave its warp from day to day In a golden loom deep hid away...
Yea, let me be 'thy bachelere,' 'Tis sweeter than thy lord; How should I envy him, my dear, The lamp upon his board. Still make his little circle bright With boon of dear domestic light,...