And here my page is, and there my bed,And the apple-tree shadows travel along.Soon their intangible track will be run,And dusk grow strongAnd they have fled.Yes: now the boiling ball is gone,And I have wasted another day….But wasted-wasted, do I say?Is it a waste to have imagined oneBeyond the hills there, who, anon,My great deeds…
In backward Time outgave the deedful wordWhereby all life is stirred:‘Let one be born and throned whose mould shall constituteThe norm of every royal-reckoned attribute,’No mortal knew or heard.But in due days the purposed Life outshone –Serene, sagacious, free;–Her waxing seasons bloomed with deeds well done,And the world’s heart was won . . .Yet may…
These flowers and plants I parch up hot –Who’ll water them that day?‘Those banks and beds whose shape your eyeHas planned in line so true,New hands will change, unreasoning whySuch shape seemed best to you.‘Within your house will strangers sit,And wonder how first it came;They’ll talk of their schemes for improving it,And will not mention…
Not a thread of her hair,No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, wherebyI may picture her there;And in vain do I urge my unsightTo conceive my lost prizeAt her close, whom I knew when her dreams were upbrimming with lightAnd with laughter her eyes.What scenes spread around her last days,Sad, shining,…
Of things I have done,Which seemed in doing not unfitTo face the sun:Yet never a soul has paused a whitOn such-not one.There was that eager strenuous pressTo sow good seed;There was that saving from distressIn the nick of need;There were those words in the wilderness:Who cared to heed?Yet can this be full true, or no?For…
Till came a child who showed an ancient coinThat bore the image of a Constantine.She lightly passed; nor did she once opineHow, better than all books, she had raised for meIn swift perspective Europe’s historyThrough the vast years of Caesar’s sceptred line.For in my distant plot of English loam‘Twas but to delve, and straightway there…
and wistfully eyeing the surface. Wind keen from north-east: sky adull grey.(Triolet)Rook.–Throughout the field I find no grain;The cruel frost encrusts the cornland!Starling.–Aye: patient pecking now is vainThroughout the field, I find . . .Rook.–No grain!Pigeon.–Nor will be, comrade, till it rain,Or genial thawings loose the lorn landThroughout the field.Rook.–I find no grain:The cruel frost…
And never a nightingale pours oneFull-throated sound?Drawn from your drowse by the Seven famed Hills,Thought you to find all just the sameHere shining, as in hours of old,If you but came?What will you do in your surpriseAt seeing that changes wrought in RomeAre wrought yet more on the misty slopeOne time your home?Will you wake…
To the lonely manor-ladyBy the light of the Christmas moon.We violed till, upward glancingTo where a mirror leaned,We saw her airily dancing,Deeming her movements screened;Dancing alone in the room there,Thin-draped in her robe of night;Her postures, glassed in the gloom there,Were a strange phantasmal sight.She had learnt (we heard when homing)That her roving spouse was…
That falls westwardlyTo the sharp-edged air,Where the ocean breaksOn the purple strand,And the hurricane shakesThe solid land.I brought her here,And have laid her to restIn a noiseless nestNo sea beats near.She will never be stirredIn her loamy cellBy the waves long heardAnd loved so well.So she does not sleepBy those haunted heightsThe Atlantic smitesAnd the…
