I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone, I feel I am alone. I check'd him while he spoke; yet, could he speak, Alas! I would not check. For reasons not to love him once I sought,...
One day, when I was young, I read About a poet, long since dead, Who fell asleep, as poets do In writing--and make others too. But herein lies the story's gist, How a gay queen came up and kist...
Come, Sleep! but mind ye! if you come without The little girl that struck me at the rout, By Jove! I would not give you half-a-crown For all your poppy-heads and all your down.
Very true, the linnets sing Sweetest in the leaves of spring: You have found in all these leaves That which changes and deceives, And, to pine by sun or star, Left them, false ones as they are....
Well I remember how you smiled To see me write your name upon The soft sea-sand--'_O! what a child!_ _You think you're writing upon stone!_' I have since written what no tide...
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!