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Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, With banners, by great gales incessant fanned, Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand, And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain!
If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd, As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate, Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd.
Pure fasted faces draw unto this feast: God comes all sweetness to your Lenten lips.
I ASK good things that I detest, With speeches fair; Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast, But hear my prayer. I say ill things I would not say - Things unaware: Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day, And not my prayer.
UP to battle! Sons of Suli Up, and do your duty duly! There the wall--and there the Moat is: Bouwah! There is booty--there is Beauty, Up my boys and do your duty.
Thine eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair, And the warm lustre of thy features--caught From contemplation--where serenely wrought, Seems Sorrow's softness charmed from its despair-- Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine air, That--but I know thy blessed bosom...
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
My song shall bless the Lord of all, My praise shall climb to His abode; Thee, Saviour, by that name I call, The great Supreme, the mighty God. Without beginning or decline, Object of faith and not of sense; Eternal...
Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews, But never deemed the dripping prize Awaited their -- low Brows -- Or Bees -- that thought...
I dreamt a dream! What can it mean? And that I was a maiden Queen Guarded by an Angel mild: Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!
Mary, leave thy lowly cot When thy thickest jobs are done; When thy friends will miss thee not, Mary, to the pastures run. Where we met the other night Neath the bush upon the plain, Be it dark or be...
Small, busy flames play through the fresh-laid coals, And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep Like whispers of the household gods that keep A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls.
The little Love-god lying once asleep, Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire Which many legions...
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.
From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame...
If I could bribe them by a Rose I'd bring them every flower that grows From Amherst to Cashmere! I would not stop for night,...
Bright ball of flame that through the gloom of even Silently takest thine aethereal way, And with surpassing glory dimm'st each ray Twinkling amid the dark blue depths of Heaven,-- Unlike the fire thou bearest, soon shalt thou Fade like...
A golden-winged Angel stood Before the Eternal Judgement-seat: His looks were wild, and Devils' blood Stained his dainty hands and feet. The Father and the Son Knew that strife was now begun.
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright.
If there be nothing new, but that which is Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd, Which labouring for invention bear amiss The second burthen of a former child!
Sweet serene sky-like flower, Haste to adorn her bower; From thy long cloudy bed Shoot forth thy damask head! New-startled blush of Flora, The grief of pale Aurora, Who will contest no more, Haste, haste to strew her floor!
If poisonous minerals, and if that tree Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us, If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damned, alas, why should I be? Why should intent or reason, born in me, Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous?
As late I rambled in the happy fields, What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dew From his lush clover covert;—when anew Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields; I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields, A fresh-blown musk-rose;...
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his fickle hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st.