But England’s lion leaping from its lairLaid hands on the oppressor! it was soWhile England could a great Republic show.Witness the men of Piedmont, chiefest careOf Cromwell, when with impotent despairThe Pontiff in his painted porticoTrembled before our stern ambassadors.How comes it then that from such high estateWe have thus fallen, save that LuxuryWith barren…
Dip and drift like satin moonsDrift like silken butterflies;Reel with every windy gust,Rise and reel like dancing girls,Float like strange transparent pearls,Fall and float like silver dust.Now to the low leaves they cling,Each with coy fantastic pose,Each a petal of a roseStraining at a gossamer string.Then to the tall trees they climb,Like thin globes of…
To let each base hand filch my treasury,To mesh my soul within a woman’s hair,And be mere Fortune’s lackeyed groom,–I swearI love it not! these things are less to meThan the thin foam that frets upon the sea,Less than the thistle-down of summer airWhich hath no seed: better to stand aloofFar from these slanderous fools…
And longing eyes half veiled by slumberous tearsLike bluest water seen through mists of rain:Pale cheeks whereon no love hath left its stain,Red underlip drawn in for fear of love,And white throat, whiter than the silvered dove,Through whose wan marble creeps one purple vein.Yet, though my lips shall praise her without cease,Even to kiss her…
The land is black with briar and weed,Nor cares for falling tears or rain.Thou knowest all; I sit and waitWith blinded eyes and hands that fail,Till the last lifting of the veilAnd the first opening of the gate.Thou knowest all; I cannot see.I trust I shall not live in vain,I know that we shall meet…
And O how salt and bitter is the breadWhich falls from this Hound’s table,–better farThat I had died in the red ways of war,Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,Than to live thus, by all things comradedWhich seek the essence of my soul to mar.‘Curse God and die: what better hope than this?He…
We are resolved into the supreme air,We are made one with what we touch and see,With our heart’s blood each crimson sun is fair,With our young lives each spring-impassioned treeFlames into green, the wildest beasts that rangeThe moor our kinsmen are, all life is one, and all is change.With beat of systole and of diastoleOne…
Breaking across the woodland, with the foamOf meadow-sweet and white anemoneTo fleck their blue waves,–God is likelier there,Than hidden in that crystal-hearted star the pale monks bear!Those violet-gleaming butterflies that takeYon creamy lily for their pavilionAre monsignores, and where the rushes shakeA lazy pike lies basking in the sunHis eyes half-shut,–He is some mitred oldBishop…
Nor heeds the splashing of the rain,The crashing down of forest trees.O well for him who ne’er hath knownThe travail of the hungry years,A father grey with grief and tears,A mother weeping all alone.But well for him whose foot hath trodThe weary road of toil and strife,Yet from the sorrows of his life.Builds ladders to…
And like a withered leaf the moonIs blown across the stormy bay.Etched clear upon the pallid sandLies the black boat: a sailor boyClambers aboard in careless joyWith laughing face and gleaming hand.And overhead the curlews cry,Where through the dusky upland grassThe young brown-throated reapers pass,Like silhouettes against the sky.
