Much rests with you that yet endears,
Alas! but what with me?
Could those bright years o’er me revolve
So gay, o’er you so fair,
The pearl of life we would dissolve
And each the cup might share.
You show that truth can ne’er decay,
Whatever fate befalls;
I, that the myrtle and the bay
Shoot fresh on ruin’d walls.
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Age
Death, tho’ I see him not, is nearAnd grudges me my eightieth year.Now, I would give him all these lastFor one that fifty have run past.Ah! he strikes all things, all alike,But bargains: those he will not strike.
God scatters beauty as he scatters flowers
A hundred lights in every temple burn,And at each shrine I bend my knee in turn.
FIRST BOOK.
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…
There is delight in singing, though none hear
In praising, though the praiser sits aloneAnd see the praised far off him, far above.Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world’s,Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee,Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and haleNo man hath walked along our roads with stepSo active, so inquiring eye, or tongueSo varied in discourse. But warmer…
I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone,
I check’d him while he spoke; yet, could he speak,Alas! I would not check.For reasons not to love him once I sought,And wearied all my thoughtTo vex myself and him: I now would giveMy love could he but liveWho lately lived for me, and, when he found‘Twas vain, in holy groundHe hid his face amid…
I strove with none, for none was worth my strife:
I warm’d both hands before the fire of Life;It sinks; and I am ready to depart.