I STROVE with none, for none was worth my strife;

To hold a moment back from me the briarYou let recoil thus sharply or my breast.Not long ago, not very long, you own’dWith maiden blushes, which became your browBetter than corn-flower, or that periwinkleTrained round it by a very careful hand,A long while trimming it (no doubt) and proudOf making its blue blossom laugh at…

To bear me from my native landAnd Zoë’s wild farewell.From billow upon billow hurl’dI can yet hear her say,`And is there nothing in the worldWorth one short hour’s delay?’`Alas, my Zoë! were it thus,I should not sail alone,Nor seas nor fates had parted us,But are you all my own?’Thus were it, never would burst forthMy…

And what mortal ever heardAny good of George the Third?When from earth the Fourth descended(God be praised!) the Georges ended.

Life passes on more rudely fleet,And balmless is its closing day.I wait its close, I court its gloom,But mourn that never must there fallOr on my breast or on my tombThe tear that would have soothed it all.

Yet have outlived by many years my sonOdysseus and the chaste Penelope.Homer: Hither I come to visit thee and singHis wanderings and his wisdom, tho my voiceBe not the voice it was.Laertes: First let us tasteMy old sound wine, and break my bread less old,But old enough for teeth like thine and mine.Homer: So be…

Beneath some cool syringa’s scented shadeOr wavy willow, by the running stream,Brimful of Moral, where the Dragon FlyWanders 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…

Among those mountain-caverns which retainHis labours yet, vast halls and flowing wells,Nor have forgotten their old master’s nameThough severed from his people here, incensedBy meditating on primeval wrongs,He blew his battle-horn, at which uproseWhole nations; here, ten thousand of most mightHe called aloud, and soon Charoba sawHis dark helm hover o’er the land of Nile,What…

No longer talk’d of by young menAs rather clever;In the last quarter are my eyes,You see it by their form and size;Is it not time then to be wise?Or now or never.Fairest that ever sprang from Eve!While Time allows the short reprieve,Just look at me! would you believe’T was once a lover?I cannot clear the…

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…

The tender leaves, if beaten low,Shine but the more for shower and blastBut when their fated hour arrives,When reapers long have left the field,When maidens rifle turn’d-up hives,And their last juice fresh apples yield,A leaf perhaps may still remainUpon some solitary tree,Spite of the wind and of the rain . . .A thing you heed…

Some froward, some sedater, some adorn’dFor festival, some reckless of attire.The snow had left the mountain-top; fresh flowersHad withered in the meadow; fig and pruneHung wrinkling; the last apple glow’d amidIts freckled leaves; and weary oxen blinktBetween the trodden corn and twisted vine,Under whose bunches stood the empty crate,To creak ere long beneath them carried…

To bear me from my native landAnd Zoë’s wild farewell.From billow upon billow hurl’dI can yet hear her say,`And is there nothing in the worldWorth one short hour’s delay?’`Alas, my Zoë! were it thus,I should not sail alone,Nor seas nor fates had parted us,But are you all my own?’Thus were it, never would burst forthMy…

The bones of him whose spirit moves the world.I have beheld thy birthplace, I have seenThy tiny ripples where they played amidThe golden cups and ever-waving blades.I have seen mighty rivers, I have seenPadus, recovered from his firy wound,And Tiber, prouder than them all to bearUpon his tawny bosom men who crushtThe world they trod…

Yes, in Thalia’s sonSuch stains there are—as when a GraceSprinkles another’s laughing faceWith nectar, and runs on.

Verse calls them forth; ’tis verse that givesImmortal youth to mortal maids.Soon shall oblivion’s deepening veilHide all the peopled hills you see,The gay, the proud, while lovers hailThese many summers you and me.

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…

Be sure my memory bathes yetIn clear Thermodon, and yet greetsThe blythe and liberal shepherd boy,Whose sunny bosom swells with joyWhen we accept his matted rushesUpheaved with sylvan fruit; away he bounds, and blushes.I promise to bring back with meWhat thou with transport wilt receive,The only proper gift for thee,Of which no mortal shall bereaveIn…

Or Charon, seeing, may forgetThat he is old and she a shade.

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…

Or Charon, seeing, may forgetThat he is old and she a shade.

Life passes on more rudely fleet,And balmless is its closing day.I wait its close, I court its gloom,But mourn that never must there fallOr on my breast or on my tombThe tear that would have soothed it all.

The ebbing sea thus beats against the shore;The shore repels it; it returns again.

Thoughts that repose within the breast half dead,And rise to follow where she loves to lead.What various feelings come from days gone by!What tears from far-off sources dim the eye!Few, when light fingers with sweet voices play,And melodies swell, pause, and melt away,Mind how at every touch, at every tone,A spark of life hath glisten’d…

And nipt the stubborn grass and juicier flowersWith one unconscious inobservant hand,While crept the other by degrees more nearUntil it rose the cherisht form around,And prest it closer, only that the earMight lean, and deeper drink some half-heardsound.

Often as they sprang up again, a frownShow’d she dislik’d resistance to her will:But when they droop’d their heads and shone much less,She shook them to and fro, and threw them by,And tripp’d away. “Ye loathe the heavinessYe love to cause, my little girls!” thought I,“And what has shone for you, by you must die!”

I warm’d both hands before the fire of life;It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

The very shower that feeds the flowerWeeps also its decay.

Remember, while the Sun his blessing shedsUpon the mountain-heads,How often we have watcht him laying downHis brow, and dropt our ownAgainst each other’s, and how faint and shortAnd sliding the support!What will succeed it now? Mine is unblest,Ianthe! nor will restBut on the very thought that swells with pain.O bid me hope again!O give me…

Much rests with you that yet endears,Alas! but what with me?Could those bright years o’er me revolveSo gay, o’er you so fair,The pearl of life we would dissolveAnd each the cup might share.You show that truth can ne’er decay,Whatever fate befalls;I, that the myrtle and the bayShoot fresh on ruin’d walls.

She bent her head before my kiss…My heart was sure that hers was true.Now I have told her I must part,She shakes my hand, she bids adieu,Nor shuns the kiss. Alas, my heart!Hers never was the heart for you.