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To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain! How it clatters along the roofs, Like the tramp of hoofs How it gushes and...
I ne'er was struck before that hour With love so sudden and so sweet. Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower And stole my heart away complete.
In crime and enmity they lie Who sin and tell us love can die, Who say to us in slander's breath That love belongs to sin and death.
1 TO-DAY a rude brief recitative, Of ships sailing the Seas, each with its special flag or ship-signal; Of unnamed heroes in the ships—Of waves spreading and spreading, far as the eye can reach; Of dashing spray, and the winds...
A faithless shepherd courted me, He stole away my liberty. When my poor heart was strange to men, He came and smiled and stole it then. When my apron would hang low, Me he sought through frost and snow.
Thy soul shall find itself alone 'Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy.
DEATH: For my dagger is bathed in the blood of the brave, I come, care-worn tenant of life, from the grave, Where Innocence sleeps 'neath the peace-giving sod, And the good cease to tremble at Tyranny's nod; I offer a...
Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear The name I used to run at, when a child, From innocent play, and leave the cowslips piled, To glance up in some face that proved me dear With the look of its eyes.
Farewell to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her name-- She abandons me now--but the page of her story, The brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame.
Weep with me, all you that read This little story; And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry. 'Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature, As heaven and nature seemed to strive Which owned the creature.
WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed, The spot they ca’d it Linkumdoddie; Willie was a wabster gude, Could stown a clue wi’ ony body: He had a wife was dour and din, O Tinkler Maidgie was her mither; Sic a wife...
FROM THE INFERNO OF DANTE. CANTO THE FIFTH. "The Land where I was born sits by the Seas Upon that shore to which the Po descends, With all his followers, in search of peace.
All things within this fading world hath end, Adversity doth still our joys attend; No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet, But with death's parting blow are sure to meet. The sentence past is most irrevocable, A common thing, yet oh, inevitable.
Such were the notes thy once-loved Poet sung, Till Death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue. Oh just beheld and lost! admired and mourn'd! With softest manners, gentlest arts adorn'd! Blest in each science, blest in every strain! Dear to the Muse!
CHORUS OF SPIRITS: FIRST SPIRIT: Palace-roof of cloudless nights! Paradise of golden lights! Deep, immeasurable, vast, Which art now, and which wert then Of the Present and the Past, Of the eternal Where and When, Presence-chamber, temple, home, Ever-canopying dome,...
Ye wild-eyed Muses, sing the Twins of Jove, Whom the fair-ankled Leda, mixed in love With mighty Saturn's Heaven-obscuring Child, On Taygetus, that lofty mountain wild, Brought forth in joy: mild Pollux, void of blame, And steed-subduing Castor, heirs of fame.
Among the taller wood with ivy hung, The old fox plays and dances round her young. She snuffs and barks if any passes bye And swings her tail and turns prepared to fly. The horseman hurries bye, she bolts to...
The Frost of Death was on the Pane -- "Secure your Flower" said he. Like Sailors fighting with a Leak We fought Mortality. Our passive...
There is no more for me to hope, There is no more for thee to fear; And, if I give my Sorrow scope, That Sorrow thou shalt never hear. Why did I hold thy love so dear? Why shed for such a heart one tear?
lest the world should task you to recite What merit lived in me, that you should love After my death,--dear love, forget me quite, For you in me can nothing worthy prove; Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, To...
The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago -- And now she turns Her perfect Face Upon the World below...
true daughter of Old Time thou art! Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart, Vulture, whose wings are dull realities How should he love thee?
who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet; But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat,--- Kept seven years in a drawer---thy titles shame thee.