Money, beauty, love, what not;
Deeming it blesseder to be
A rotted man, than live to see
So rude a sky as covers thee;
Deeming thyself of all unblest
And wretched souls the wretchedest,
Longing to die and be at rest;
Know: that however grim the fate
Which sent thee forth to meditate
Upon my enviable state,
Here lieth one who would resign
Gladly his lot, to shoulder thine.
Give me thy coat; get into mine.
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‘Son,’ said my mother,
‘you’ve need of clothes to cover you,and not a rag have I.‘There’s nothing in the houseTo make a boy breeches,Nor shears to cut a cloth with,Nor thread to take stitches.‘There’s nothing in the houseBut a loaf-end of rye,And a harp with a woman’s headNobody will buy,’And she began to cry.That was in the early fall.When…
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;I want him at the shrinking of the tide;The old snows melt from every mountain-side,And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;But last year’s bitter loving must remainHeaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abideThere are a hundred places where I fearTo go,—so with his…
Silver bark of beech, and sallow
Twig of willow.Stripe of green in moosewood maple,Colour seen in leaf of apple,Bark of popple.Wood of popple pale as moonbeam,Wood of oak for yoke and barn-beam,Wood of hornbeam.Silver bark of beech, and hollowStem of elder, tall and yellowTwig of willow.
Doubt no more that Oberon—
Lived, and played a reed, and ranAfter nymphs in a dark forest,In the merry, credulous days,—Lived, and led a fairy bandOver the indulgent land!Ah, for in this dourest, sorestAge man’s eye has looked upon,Death to fauns and death to fays,Still the dog-wood dares to raise—Healthy tree, with trunk and root—Ivory bowls that bear no fruit,And…
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
Under my head till morning; but the rainIs full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sighUpon the glass and listen for reply,And in my heart there stirs a quiet painFor unremembered lads that not againWill turn to me at midnight with a cry.Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,Nor knows what birds have vanished one…
There it was I saw what I shall never forget
Monstrous and beautiful to human eyes, hard tobelieve,He lay, yet there he lay,Asleep on the moss, his head on his polished cleftsmall ebony hoves,The child of the doe, the dappled child of the deer.Surely his mother had never said, ‘Lie hereTill I return,’ so spotty and plain to seeOn the green moss lay he.His eyes…