Not being but an outward phantasy,
That skims the surface of a tinted cheek,—
Else it would wane with beauty, and grow weak,
As if the rose made summer,—and so lie
Amongst the perishable things that die,
Unlike the love which I would give and seek:
Whose health is of no hue—to feel decay
With cheeks’ decay, that have a rosy prime.
Love is its own great loveliness alway,
And takes new lustre from the touch of time;
Its bough owns no December and no May,
But bears its blossom into Winter’s clime.
From cloudy steeps; and I grew sad to thinkEndymion’s foot was silent on those mountains.And he but a hush’d name, that Silence keepsIn dear remembrance,—lonely, and forlorn,Singing it to herself until she weepsTears, that perchance still glisten in the morn:—And as I mused, in dull imaginings,There came a flash of garments, and I knewThe awful…
Though ’tis not for my peasant lipsTo soil her name between:A king might lay his sceptre down,But I am poor and nought,The brow should wear a golden crownThat wears her in its thought.The diamonds glancing in her hair,Whose sudden beams surprise,Might bid such humble hopes bewareThe glancing of her eyes;Yet looking once, I look’d too…
The moon is constant to her time;The sun will never fail;But follow, follow round the world,The green earth and the sea,So love is with the lover’s heart,Wherever he may be.Wherever he may be, the starsMust daily lose their light;The moon will veil her in the shade;The sun will set at night.The sun may set, but…
On Anna’s soft and gentle breastMy head reclined at last;The darkness closed around, so dearTo fond congenial souls,And thus she murmur’d at my ear,‘My love, we’re out of coals!‘That Mister Bond has call’d again,Insisting on his rent;And all the Todds are coming upTo see us, out of Kent —I quite forgot to tell you JohnHas…
That wait on all terrestrial affairs–The shades of former and of future years–Forboding fancies and prophetic tears,Quelling a spirit that was once elate.Heavens! what a wilderness the world appears,Where youth, and mirth, and health are out of date;But no–a laugh of innocence and joyResounds, like music of the fairy race,And, gladly turning from the world’s…
When the hot sun singes the yellow leavesTill they be gold,—and with a broader sphereThe Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves;When more abundantly the spider weaves,And the cold wind breathes from a chillier clime;—That forth I fared, on one of those still eves,Touch’d with the dewy sadness of the time,To think how the…
