I come to visit thee agen, My little flowerless cyclamen; To touch the hand, almost to press, That cheer'd thee in thy loneliness. What could thy careful guardian find Of thee in form, of me in mind,...
Avon! why runnest thou away so fast? Rest thee before that Chancel where repose The bones of him whose spirit moves the world. I have beheld thy birthplace, I have seen Thy tiny ripples where they play amid...
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:...
You smiled, you spoke, and I believed, By every word and smile deceived. Another man would hope no more; Nor hope I what I hoped before: But let not this last wish be vain; Deceive, deceive me once again!