All that remains of thee these plaits unfold,
Calm hair meandering in pellucid gold.
Similar Posts
Why, why repine, my pensive friend,
Some the stern Fates will never lend,And all refuse to stay.I see the rainbow in the sky,The dew upon the grass,I see them, and I ask not whyThey glimmer or they pass.With folded arms I linger notTo call them back; ’twere vain;In this, or in some other spot,I know they’ll shine again.
RHAICOS was born amid the hills wherefrom
And small are the white-crested that play near,And smaller onward are the purple waves.Thence festal choirs were visible, all crown’dWith rose and myrtle if they were inborn;If from Pandion sprang they, on the coastWhere stern Athenè rais’d her citadel,Then olive was entwin’d with violetsCluster’d in bosses, regular and large;For various men wore various coronals,But one…
THE WISEST of the wise
And love to hear them told;Doubt not that SolomonListen’d to many a one,—Some in his youth, and more when he grew old.I never was amongThe choir of Wisdom’s song,But pretty lies lov’d IAs much as any king,When youth was on the wing,And (must it then be told?) when youth had quite gone by.Alas! and I…
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.
Yes, in this chancel once we sat alone,
Freshness like Morning’s dwelt upon thy cheek,While here and there above the level pews,Above the housings of the village dames,The musky fan its groves and zephyrs waved.I know not why (since we had each our bookAnd lookt upon it stedfastly) first oneOutran the learned labourer from the desk,Then tript the other and limpt far behind,And…
Life (priest and poet say) is but a dream;
Beneath a cool syringa’s scented shade,Or wavy willow, by the running stream,Brimful of moral, where the dragon-fly,Wanders as careless and content as I.Thanks for this fancy, insect king,Of purple crest and filmy wing,Who with indifference givest upThe water-lily’s golden cup,To come again and overlookWhat I am writing in my book.Believe me, most who read the…