And therefore if to love can be desert,

I come to thee, a solemn corpseWhich neither feels nor fears.I have no breath to use in sighs;They laid the dead-weights on mine eyesTo seal them safe from tears.Look on me with thine own calm look:I meet it calm as thou.No look of thine can change this smile,Or break thy sinful vow:I tell thee that…

‘I love her for her smile–her look–her wayOf speaking gently,–for a trick of thoughtThat falls in well with mine, and certes broughtA sense of pleasant ease on such a day’–For these things in themselves, Beloved, mayBe changed, or change for thee,–and love, so wrought,May be unwrought so. Neither love me forThine own dear pity’s wiping…

About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,Put out broad leaves, and soon there ‘s nought to seeExcept the straggling green which hides the wood.Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understoodI will not have my thoughts instead of theeWho art dearer, better! Rather, instantlyRenew thy presence; as a strong tree should,Rustle thy boughs and set…

Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stoleBetwixt me and the dreadful outer brinkOf obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,Was caught up into love, and taught the wholeOf life in a new rhythm. The cup of doleGod gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.The…

As these you see, and trembling knees that failTo bear the burden of a heavy heart,–This weary minstrel-life that once was girtTo climb Aornus, and can scarce availTo pipe now ‘gainst the valley nightingaleA melancholy music,–why advertTo these things? O Belovèd, it is plainI am not of thy worth nor for thy place!And yet, because…

Where waving woods and waters wildDo hymn an autumn sound.The summer sun is faint on them —The summer flowers depart —Sit still — as all transform’d to stone,Except your musing heart.How there you sat in summer-time,May yet be in your mind;And how you heard the green woods singBeneath the freshening wind.Though the same wind now…

As once Electra her sepulchral urn,And, looking in thine eyes, I overturnThe ashes at thy feet. Behold and seeWhat a great heap of grief lay hid in me,And how the red wild sparkles dimly burnThrough the ashen grayness. If thy foot in scornCould tread them out to darkness utterly,It might be well perhaps. But if…

To love me, I looked forward to the moonTo slacken all those bonds which seemed too soonAnd quickly tied to make a lasting troth.Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe;And, looking on myself, I seemed not oneFor such man’s love!—more like an out-of-tuneWorn viol, a good singer would be wrothTo spoil his song with, and…

‘I love her for her smile–her look–her wayOf speaking gently,–for a trick of thoughtThat falls in well with mine, and certes broughtA sense of pleasant ease on such a day’ –For these things in themselves, Beloved, mayBe changed, or change for thee,–and love, so wrought,May be unwrought so. Neither love me forThine own dear pity’s…

Put out broad leaves, and soon there ‘s nought to seeExcept the straggling green which hides the wood.Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understoodI will not have my thoughts instead of theeWho art dearer, better ! Rather, instantlyRenew thy presence; as a strong tree should,Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,And let these…

Plucked in the garden, all the summer throughAnd winter, and it seemed as if they grewIn this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.So, in the like name of that love of ours,Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,And which on warm and cold days I withdrewFrom my heart’s ground. Indeed, those beds…

Thee speaking, and me listening ! and repliedOne of us . . . that was God, . . . and laid the curseSo darkly on my eyelids, as to amerceMy sight from seeing thee,–that if I had died,The deathweights, placed there, would have signifiedLess absolute exclusion. ‘Nay’ is worseFrom God than from all others, O…

Against my tremulous hands which loose the stringAnd let them drop down on my knee to-night.This said,- he wished to have me in his sightOnce, as a friend: this fixed a day in springTo come and touch my hand… a simple thing,Yet I wept for it! – this,… the paper’s light…Said, Dear, I love thee;…

Quite good enough for men to overbearThe will of God in, with rebellious wills !We cannot say the morning-sun fulfilsIngloriously its course, nor that the clearStrong stars without significance insphereOur habitation: we, meantime, our illsHeap up against this good and lift a cryAgainst this work-day world, this ill-spread feast,As if ourselves were better certainlyThan what…

The sun, a little cloud can pallWith darkness yonder?The cloud, a little wind can moveWhere’er it listeth?The wind, a little leaf above,Though sere, resisteth?What time that yellow leaf was green,My days were gladder;But now, whatever Spring may mean,I must grow sadder.Ah me! a leaf with sighs can wringMy lips asunder –Then is mine heart the…

From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blownA life-breath, till the forehead hopefullyShines out again, as all the angels see,Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own,Who camest to me when the world was gone,And I who looked for only God, found thee!I find thee; I am…

As these you see, and trembling knees that failTo bear the burden of a heavy heart,–This weary minstrel-life that once was girtTo climb Aornus, and can scarce availTo pipe now ‘gainst the valley nightingaleA melancholy music,–why advertTo these things ? O Beloved, it is plainI am not of thy worth nor for thy place !And…

As these you see, and trembling knees that failTo bear the burden of a heavy heart,–This weary minstrel-life that once was girtTo climb Aornus, and can scarce availTo pipe now ‘gainst the valley nightingaleA melancholy music,–why advertTo these things ? O Beloved, it is plainI am not of thy worth nor for thy place !And…