When will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings shut, Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs? When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I'll not play hypocrite To own my heart: I yield you do come sometimes;...

Universal

Gerard Manley Hopkins

Short99 words

Poetry

Sonnet 107: Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confin'd doom.

To Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin

Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed; Yes, I was firm--thus wert not thou;-- My baffled looks did fear yet dread To meet thy looks--I could not know How anxiously they sought to shine With soothing pity upon mine.

Sonnet (I)

My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee, Wherewith whole showls of Martyrs once did burn, Besides their other flames? Doth Poetry Wear Venus livery? only serve her turn? Why are not Sonnets made of thee? and layes Upon thine Altar burnt?

Pensive on Her Dead Gazing, I Heard the Mother of All.

PENSIVE, on her dead gazing, I heard the Mother of All, Desperate, on the torn bodies, on the forms covering the battle-fields gazing; (As the last gun ceased—but the scent of the powder-smoke linger’d;) As she call’d to her earth...

Song to the Men of England

Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay ye low? Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear? Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save, From the cradle to the grave, Those ungrateful drones who...

Sonnet 65: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower?

Of That High World

If that high world, which lies beyond Our own, surviving Love endears; If there the cherished heart be fond, The eye the same, except in tears-- How welcome those untrodden spheres! How sweet this very hour to die! To soar...

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

106 words

Poetry

To an Oak at Newstead

when I planted thee deep in the ground, I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine; That thy dark-waving branches would flourish around, And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine.

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

371 words

Poetry

Farewell

Farewell to the bushy clump close to the river And the flags where the butter-bump hides in for ever; Farewell to the weedy nook, hemmed...

Sonnet 151: Love is too young to know what conscience is

Love is too young to know what conscience is, Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?

The Schoolboy

I love to rise on a summer morn, When birds are singing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me: Oh what sweet company! But to go to school in a summer morn,--...

To William Shelley

The billows on the beach are leaping around it, The bark is weak and frail, The sea looks black, and the clouds that bound it Darkly strew the gale.

Badger

When midnight comes a host of dogs and men Go out and track the badger to his den, And put a sack within the hole, and lie Till the old grunting badger passes bye. He comes and hears--they let the strongest loose.

The Dream

Dear love, for nothing less than thee Would I have broke this happy dream; It was a theme For reason, much too strong for phantasy: Therefore thou waked'st me wisely; yet My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st it.

To the Author of a Sonnet

Thy verse is "sad" enough, no doubt: A devilish deal more sad than witty! Why we should weep I can't find out, Unless for _thee_ we weep in pity. Yet there is one I pity more; And much, alas!

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

109 words

Poetry

Sonnet 76: Why is my verse so barren of new pride

Why is my verse so barren of new pride, So far from variation or quick change? Why with the time do I not glance aside To new-found methods, and to compounds strange?

A World for Love

Oh, the world is all too rude for thee, with much ado and care; Oh, this world is but a rude world, and hurts a thing so fair; Was there a nook in which the world had never been to...

Sonnet 147: My love is as a fever longing still

My love is as a fever longing still, For that which longer nurseth the disease; Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please.

Youth and Art

It once might have been, once only: We lodged in a street together, You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely, I, a lone she-bird of his feather.

Fill the Goblet Again. a Song

for I never before Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core; Let us drink!--who would not?--since, through life's varied round, In the goblet alone no deception is found.

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

261 words