And long I used to stand and look
At things I could not buy.
Now times are altered: if I care
To buy a thing, I can;
The pence are here and here’s the fair,
But where’s the lost young man?
– – To think that two and two are four
And neither five nor three
The heart of man has long been sore
And long ’tis like to be.
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West and away the wheels of darkness roll,
Spectres and fears, the nightmare and her foal,Drown in the golden deluge of the morn.But over sea and continent from sightSafe to the Indies has the earth conveyedThe vast and moon-eclipsing cone of night,Her towering foolscap of eternal shade.See, in mid heaven the sun is mounted; hark,The belfries tingle to the noonday chime.‘Tis silent, and…
When the lad for longing sighs,
If at death’s own door he lies,Maiden, you can heal his ail.Lovers’ ills are all to buy:The wan look, the hollow tone,The hung head, the sunken eye,You can have them for your own.Buy them, buy them: eve and mornLovers’ ills are all to sell.Then you can lie down forlorn;But the lover will be well.
How clear, how lovely bright,
Those beams of morning play;How heaven laughs out with gleeWhere, like a bird set free,Up from the eastern seaSoars the delightful day.To-day I shall be strong,No more shall yield to wrong,Shall squander life no more;Days lost, I know not how,I shall retrieve them now;Now I shall keep the vowI never kept before.Ensanguining the skiesHow heavily…
When I watch the living meet
Warm and breathing through the streetWhere I lodge a little while,If the heats of hate and lustIn the house of flesh are strong,Let me mind the house of dustWhere my sojourn shall be long.In the nation that is notNothing stands that stood before;There revenges are forgot,And the hater hates no more;Lovers lying two and twoAsk…
Bring, in this timeless grave to throw,
Snap not from the bitter yewHis leaves that live December through;Break no rosemary, bright with rimeAnd sparkling to the cruel clime;Nor plod the winter land to lookFor willows in the icy brookTo cast them leafless round him: bringNo spray that ever buds in spring.But if the Christmas field has keptAwns the last gleaner overstept,Or shrivelled…
‘Tis spring; come out to ramble
For under thorn and brambleAbout the hollow groundThe primroses are found.And there’s the windflower chillyWith all the winds at play,And there’s the Lenten lilyThat has not long to stayAnd dies on Easter day.And since till girls go mayingYou find the primrose still,And find the windflower playingWith every wind at will,But not the daffodil,Bring baskets now,…