Tender to tearfulness–childlike, and manly, and motherly;
Here beats true English blood richest joyance on sweet English
ground.
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I
In blackness for her daughter snatched below.Smoke-pillar or loose hillock was the sand,Where soil had been to clasp warm seed and throwThe wheat, vine, olive, ripe to Summer’s ray.Now whether night advancing, whether day,Scarce did the baldness show:The hand of man was a defeated hand.IINecessity, the primal goad to growth,Stood shrunken; Youth and Age appeared…
When I would image her features,
I touch the outlines, shrinking;She seems of the wandering dead.But when love asks for nothing,And lies on his bed of snow,The face slips under my eyelids,All in its living glow.Like a dark cathedral city,Whose spires, and domes, and towersQuiver in violet lightnings,My soul basks on for hours.
Now ’tis Spring on wood and wold,
But gladdens, and gathers, day by day,A lovelier hue, a warmer ray,A sweeter song, a dearer ditty;Ouzel and throstle, new-mated and gay,Singing their bridals on every spray –Oh, hear them, deep in the songless City!Cast off the yoke of toil and smoke,As Spring is casting winter’s grey,As serpents cast their skins away:And come, for the…
At dinner, she is hostess, I am host.
The Topic over intellectual deepsIn buoyancy afloat. They see no ghost.With sparkling surface-eyes we ply the ball:It is in truth a most contagious game:HIDING THE SKELETON, shall be its name.Such play as this the devils might appal!But here’s the greater wonder; in that we,Enamoured of an acting nought can tire,Each other, like true hypocrites, admire;Warm-lighted…
I know him, February’s thrush,
On sprays that paw the naked bushWhere soon will sprout the thorns and bines.Now ere the foreign singer thrillsOur vale his plain-song pipe he pours,A herald of the million bills;And heed him not, the loss is yours.My study, flanked with ivied firAnd budded beech with dry leaves curled,Perched over yew and juniper,He neighbours, piping to…
I cannot lose thee for a day,
My heart will find thee far away,And on thy bosom fall and sing,My nest is here, my rest is here; –And in the lull of wind and rain,Fresh voices make a sweet refrain,‘His rest is there, his nest is there.’With thee the wind and sky are fair,But parted, both are strange and dark;And treacherous the…