The very shower that feeds the flower
Weeps also its decay.
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Friends, whom she lookt at blandly from her couch
Were arguing with Pentheusa: she had heardReport of Creon’s death, whom years beforeShe listened to, well-pleas’d; and sighs arose;For sighs full often fondle with reproofsAnd will be fondled by them. When I cameAfter the rest to visit her, she said,‘Myrtis! how kind! Who better knows than thouThe pangs of love? and my first love was…
There is delight in singing, though none hear
In praising, though the praiser sits aloneAnd see the praised far off him, far above.Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world’s,Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee,Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and haleNo man hath walked along our roads with stepSo active, so inquiring eye, or tongueSo varied in discourse. But warmer…
WE are what suns and winds and waters make us;
Fashion and win their nursling with their smiles.But where the land is dim from tyranny,There tiny pleasures occupy the placeOf glories and of duties; as the feetOf fabled faeries when the sun goes downTrip o’er the grass where wrestlers strove by day.Then Justice, call’d the Eternal One above,Is more inconstant than the buoyant formThat burst…
“ARTEMIDORA! Gods invisible,
Have tied the sandal to thy veined feet,And stand beside thee, ready to conveyThy weary steps where other rivers flow.Refreshing shades will waft thy wearinessAway, and voices like thine own come nigh,Soliciting, nor vainly, thy embrace.”Artemidora sigh’d, and would have press’dThe hand now pressing hers, but was too weak.Fate’s shears were over her dark hair…
An ancient chestnut’s blossoms threw
Leucippe, it is said, was one;The other, then, was Alciphron.‘Come, come! why should we stand beneath?’This hollow tree’s unwholesome breath?’Said Alciphron, ‘here’s not a bladeOf grass or moss, and scanty shade.Come; it is just the hour to roveIn the lone dingle shepherds love;There, straight and tall, the hazel twigDivides the crookàed rock-held fig,O’er the blue…
REMAIN, ah not in youth alone,
But when my summer days are gone,And my autumnal haste away.“Can I be always by your side?”No; but the hours you can, you must,Nor rise at Death’s approaching stride,Nor go when dust is gone to dust.