Beauty like hers is genius. Not t… Of Homer’s or of Dante’s heart su… Not Michael’s hand furrowing the… Is more with compassed mysteries m… Nay, not in Spring’s or Summer’s…

Sweet twining hedgeflowers wind—st… On this June day; and hand that c… Still glades; and meeting faces sc… An osier—odoured stream that draws… Deep to its heart; and mirrored ey…

The thronged boughs of the shadowy… Still bear young leaflets half the… From when the robin 'gainst the un… Perched dark, till now, deep in th… The embowered throstle’s urgent wo…

AS when the last of the paid joys… Has come and gone; and with a sing… At length, and with one laugh of s… The wearied man a minute rests abo… The wearied woman, no more urged t…

By what word’s power, the key of p… Shall I the difficult deeps of Lo… Till parted waves of Song yield u… Even as that sea which Israel cro… For lo! in some poor rhythmic peri…

In our Museum galleries To—day I lingered o’er the prize Dead Greece vouchsafes to living… Her Art for ever in fresh wise From hour to hour rejoicing me.

She fell asleep on Christmas Eve: At length the long—ungranted shade Of weary eyelids overweigh’d The pain nought else might yet rel… Our mother, who had lean’d all day

HERE writ was the World’s Histo… Whose steps knew all the earth; al… In these few piteous paces then wa… Here daily, hourly, have his proud… This smaller speck than the recedi…

18th November 1852 “VICTORY!” So once more the cry must be. Duteous mourning we fulfil In God’s name; but by God’s will,

From child to youth; from youth to… From lethargy to fever of the hear… From faithful life to dream—dowere… From trust to doubt; from doubt to… Thus much of change in one swift c…

The city’s steeple—towers remove a… Each singly; as each vain infatuat… Leaves God in heaven, and passes.… Each soon appears, so far. Yet th… The first is now scarce further or…

What of her glass without her? Th… There where the pool is blind of t… Her dress without her? The tossed… Of cloud—rack whence the moon has… Her paths without her? Day’s appo…

This is that blessed Mary, pre—el… God’s Virgin. Gone is a great whi… Dwelt young in Nazareth of Galile… Unto God’s will she brought devou… Profound simplicity of intellect,

O leave your hand where it lies co… Upon the eyes whose lids are hot: Its rosy shade is bountiful Of silence, and assuages thought. O lay your lips against your hand

In whomsoe’er, since Poesy began, A Poet most of all men we may sca… Burns of all poets is the most a…