‘If you were mine, if you were min… The day would dawn, the stars woul… The sun would set, the moon arise, In holier and yet heavenlier skies… Then unto me the Year would bring

‘River rolling past the grey Battlements of yesterday, Palace strongholds reared by hands Summoned from transalpine lands, Skilled in wedding strength with g…

Welcome, right welcome home, to th… Where, unforgotten, loved Victori… But now with happy pride your Fat… Your Mother weeps. You went as came the swallow, home…

The lights of Mesolongi gleam Before me, now the day is gone; And vague as leaf on drifting stre… My keel glides on. No mellow moon, no stars arise;

The flower, full blown, now bends… The mellow fruit inclines the boug… The brow which thought impregnates… Death-stricken is the womb in givi… Cracked is the vase by heat which…

Good-night! Now dwindle wan and l… The embers of the afterglow, And slowly over leaf and lawn Is twilight’s dewy curtain drawn. The slouching vixen leaves her lai…

Hush! or you’ll wake her. Softly… She slumbers in her little bed. What do I see? A coffin! Dead? Yes, dead at break of morning. No, no, it cannot, cannot be!

Kacelyevo’s slope still felt The cannon’s bolt and the rifles’… For a last redoubt up the hill rem… By the Russ yet held, by the Turk… Mehemet Ali stroked his beard;

Church-doors should still stand op… Open to all who come for praise or… Laden with gift of love or load of… Nimbused with gold, or flecked wit… Mother, or snow-white bride, or pa…

‘In the depth of Night, on the he… Would you know where I rest or ro… In vain will you search, for I no… And the Universe is my home. ’When you think to descry on the c…

Bend down and read-the birth, the… Born in the year that Waterloo wa… And died in this, whose days are n… But which, because a year conceive… No noble need will christen or wil…

Angels their silvery trumpets blow… At dawn, to greet the Morning Glo… And mortals lift adoring eyes To see the glorious sun arise. Then, winged by Faith, and spurre…

Joy! Free, at last, from vulgar t… No longer need my voice be dumb; And quicker far than thou canst ca… O Italy, I come! To feel me the adopted heir

When for a buonamano Cometh, at break of day, Knock at the terzo piano, A little voice answers, Chi è? ‘I, the facchino, awaiting

The last warm gleams of sunset fad… From cypress spire and stonepine d… And, in the twilight’s deepening s… Lingering, I scan the wrecks of R… Husht the Madonna’s Evening Bell…