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Spit in my face you Jews, and pierce my side, Buffet, and scoff, scourge, and crucify me, For I have sinned, and sinned, and only he Who could do no iniquity hath died: But by my death can not be...
The King was on his throne, The Satraps thronged the hall: A thousand bright lamps shone O'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold, In Judah deemed divine-- Jehovah's vessels hold The godless Heathen's wine!
Going to Him! Happy letter! Tell Him -- Tell Him the page I didn't write -- Tell Him -- I only said the Syntax --...
I The irresponsive silence of the land, The irresponsive sounding of the sea, Speak both one message of one sense to me:-- Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band Of inner solitude;...
The flower that smiles to-day To-morrow dies; All that we wish to stay Tempts and then flies. What is this world's delight? Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright. Virtue, how frail it is! Friendship how rare! Love,...
they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth: And Constancy lives in realms above; And Life is thorny; and youth is vain: And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the...
Love, meet me in the green glen, Beside the tall elm tree, Where the sweet briar smells so sweet agen; There come with me, Meet me in the green glen.
Timid and smiling, beautiful and shy, She drops her head at every passer bye. Afraid of praise she hurries down the streets And turns away from every smile she meets.
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-raz'd, And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on...
The apple trees are hung with gold, And birds are loud in Arcady, The sheep lie bleating in the fold, The wild goat runs across the wold, But yesterday his love he told, I know he will come back to me.
Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert...Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold...
Of all the gifts Thine hand bestows, Thou Giver of all good! Not heaven itself a richer knows Than my Redeemer's blood. Faith too, the blood-receiving grace, From the same hand we gain; Else, sweetly as it suits our case,...
How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean Are thy returns! ev'n as the flowers in spring; To which, besides their own demean, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snows in May, As if there were no such cold thing.
Tyger, tyger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire?
The frog croaks loud, and maidens dare not pass But fear the noisome toad and shun the grass; And on the sunny banks they dare not go Where hissing snakes run to the flood below. The nuthatch noises loud in...
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, And do not drop in for an after-loss: Ah!
Sweet chestnuts brown like soling leather turn; The larch trees, like the colour of the Sun; That paled sky in the Autumn seemed to burn, What a strange scene before us now does run-- Red, brown, and yellow, russet, black,...
FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHUS. Pan loved his neighbour Echo--but that child Of Earth and Air pined for the Satyr leaping; The Satyr loved with wasting madness wild The bright nymph Lyda,--and so three went weeping.
Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep: A maid of Dian's this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrow'd from this holy fire of Love, A dateless lively...
Corpses are cold in the tomb; Stones on the pavement are dumb; Abortions are dead in the womb, And their mothers look pale--like the death-white shore Of Albion, free no more.
FOR some abiding central source of power, Strong-smitten steady chords, ye seem to flow And, flowing, carry virtue.
Poet of mighty power, I fain Would court the muse that honoured thee, And, like Elisha's spirit, gain A part of thy intensity; And share the mantle which she flung Around thee, when thy lyre was strung.
Since the refinement of this polish'd age Has swept immoral raillery from the stage; Since taste has now expung'd licentious wit, Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ; Since, now, to please with purer scenes we seek, Nor dare...