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What beckoning ghost, along the moonlight shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? 'Tis she!--but why that bleeding bosom gored, Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? Oh, ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell, Is it, in heaven, a crime to love too well?
Descend, ye Nine!
THE PROLOGUE. WEET ye not where there stands a little town, Which that y-called is Bob-up-and-down, Under the Blee, in Canterbury way? There gan our Hoste for to jape and play, And saide, "Sirs, what? Dun is in the mire.
Why dost borrow The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?-- To give maiden blushes To the white rose bushes? Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips? Why dost borrow The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?-- To give the glow-worm light?
orthodox, who believe in John Knox, Let me sound an alarm to your conscience: A heretic blast has been blown in the West, That what is no sense must be nonsense, Orthodox! That what is no sense must be nonsense.
UPON that night, when fairies light On Cassilis Downans 2 dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, On sprightly coursers prance; Or for Colean the rout is ta’en, Beneath the moon’s pale beams; There, up the Cove, 3 to...
True as the church clock hand the hour pursues He plods about his toils and reads the news, And at the blacksmith's shop his hour will stand To talk of "Lunun" as a foreign land.
Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigued, I said, Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. The Dog-star rages! nay, 'tis past a doubt, All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out: Fire in each eye, and papers in...
Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste Brought death into the World, and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater Man Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, Sing, Heavenly...
did you observe the Black Canon pass, And did you observe his frown? He goeth to say the midnight mass, In holy St. Edmond's town. He goeth to sing the burial chaunt, And to lay the wandering sprite, Whose shadowy,...
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to...
There they are, my fifty men and women Naming me the fifty poems finished! Take them, Love, the book and me together; Where the heart lies, let the brain lie also.
THE Devil returned to Hell by two, And he stayed at home till five; When he dined on some homicides done in _ragoût_, And a rebel or so in an _Irish_ stew, And sausages made of a self-slain Jew, And...
As I lay asleep in Italy There came a voice from over the Sea, And with great power it forth led me To walk in the visions of Poesy.
THE PROLOGUE.
When the last sunshine of expiring Day In Summer's twilight weeps itself away, Who hath not felt the softness of the hour Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower?
First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock! Gods of my birthplace, dæmons and heroes, honour to all! Then I name thee, claim thee for our patron, co-equal in praise --Ay, with Zeus the Defender, with Her of the ægis and spear!
Long years!--It tries the thrilling frame to bear And eagle-spirit of a Child of Song-- Long years of outrage--calumny--and wrong; Imputed madness, prisoned solitude, And the Mind's canker in its savage mood, When the impatient thirst of light and air...
There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen Their baaing vanities, to browse away The comfortable green and juicy hay From human pastures; or, O torturing fact!
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-- While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping--rapping at my chamber door.
THE THIRD PASTORAL, Or HYLAS AND ÆGON. TO MR WYCHERLEY. Beneath the shade a spreading beech displays, Hylas and Ægon sung their rural lays; This mourn'd a faithless, that an absent love. And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the grove.
’TWAS 1 in that place o’ Scotland’s isle, That bears the name o’ auld King Coil, Upon a bonie day in June, When wearin’ thro’ the afternoon, Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame, Forgather’d ance upon a time.
HELEN: Come hither, my sweet Rosalind. 'Tis long since thou and I have met; And yet methinks it were unkind Those moments to forget. Come, sit by me.
I send my heart up to thee, all my heart In this my singing.