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VI We lack, yet cannot fix upon the lack: Not this, nor that; yet somewhat, certainly. We see the things we do not yearn to see Around us: and what see we glancing back?
SHE has gone,-- she has left us in passion and pride,-- Our stormy-browed sister, so long at our side! She has torn her own star from our firmament's glow, And turned on her brother the face of a foe!
How Refer the cause?—Beloved, is it thou Or I, who makes me sad? The acolyte Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite May so fall flat, with pale insensate brow, On the altar-stair.
I rose -- because He sank -- I thought it would be opposite -- But when his power dropped -- My Soul grew straight. I...
No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this...
I MURDER hate by flood or field, Tho’ glory’s name may screen us; In wars at home I’ll spend my blood— Life-giving wars of Venus. The deities that I adore Are social Peace and Plenty; I’m better pleas’d to make...
If faithful souls be alike glorified As angels, then my fathers soul doth see, And adds this even to full felicity, That valiantly I hells wide mouth o'erstride: But if our minds to these souls be descried By circumstances, and...
THESE, I, singing in spring, collect for lovers, (For who but I should understand lovers, and all their sorrow and joy?
FAREWELL, thou stream that winding flows Around Eliza’s dwelling; O mem’ry! spare the cruel thoes Within my bosom swelling. Condemn’d to drag a hopeless chain And yet in secret languish; To feel a fire in every vein, Nor dare disclose my anguish.
The happiest day--the happiest hour My seared and blighted heart hath known, The highest hope of pride and power, I feel hath flown. Of power!...
Mark in my heart, O soul, where thou dost dwell, The picture of Christ crucified, and tell Whether that countenance can thee affright, Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light, Blood fills his frowns, which from his pierced head fell.
DEATH, to the dead for evermore A King, a God, the last, the best of friends - Whene'er this mortal journey ends Death, like a...
Daughters of Jove, whose voice is melody, Muses, who know and rule all minstrelsy Sing the wide-winged Moon! Around the earth, From her immortal head in Heaven shot forth, Far light is scattered--boundless glory springs; Where'er she spreads her many-beaming...
HERE is the glen, and here the bower All underneath the birchen shade; The village-bell has told the hour, O what can stay my lovely maid? ’Tis not Maria’s whispering call; ’Tis but the balmy breathing gale, Mixt with some...
This is my play's last scene, here heavens appoint My pilgrimage's last mile; and my race Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace, My span's last inch, my minute's latest point, And gluttonous death, will instantly unjoint My body...
NO Spartan tube, no Attic shell, No lyre Æolian I awake; ’Tis liberty’s bold note I swell, Thy harp, Columbia, let me take!
That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
XIX The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise; I barter curl for curl upon that mart, And from my poet's forehead to my heart Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,— As purply black, as erst to Pindar's eyes The dim purpureal...
The first time that the sun rose on thine oath To love me, I looked forward to the moon To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
thou that roll'st above thy glorious Fire, Round as the shield which grac'd my godlike Sire, Whence are the beams, O Sun! thy endless blaze, Which far eclipse each minor Glory's rays? Forth in thy Beauty here thou deign'st to shine!
O HOW shall I, unskilfu’, try The poet’s occupation? The tunefu’ powers, in happy hours, That whisper inspiration; Even they maun dare an effort mair Than aught they ever gave us, Ere they rehearse, in equal verse, The charms o’ lovely Davies.
THE BAIRNS gat out wi’ an unco shout, The deuks dang o’er my daddie, O! The fien-ma-care, quo’ the feirrie auld wife, He was but a paidlin’ body, O! He paidles out, and he paidles in, An’ he paidles late and early, O!
I learned -- at least -- what Home could be -- How ignorant I had been Of pretty ways of Covenant -- How awkward at...
Margaret, are you grieving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves, like the things of man, you With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?