There is health in thy gray wing, Health of nature’€™s furnishing. Say, thou modern-winged antique, Was thy mistress ever sick? In each heaving of thy wing

Here lies the body of this world, Whose soul alas to hell is hurled. This golden youth long since was p… Its silver manhood went as fast, An iron age drew on at last;

THOUGH all the fates should pro… Leave not your native land behind. The ship, becalmed, at length stan… The steed must rest beneath the hi… But swiftly still our fortunes pac…

Let such pure hate still underprop Our love, that we may be Each other’s conscience, And have our sympathy Mainly from thence.

I am a parcel of vain strivings ti… By a chance bond together, Dangling this way and that, their… Were made so loose and wide, Methinks,

Sometimes a mortal feels in himsel… —not his Father but his Mother st… within him, and he becomes immorta… immortality. From time to time she… kindredship with us, and some glob…

Within the circuit of this ploddin… There enter moments of an azure hu… Untarnished fair as is the violet Or anemone, when the spring strews… By some meandering rivulet, which…

Pray to what earth does this sweet… Which asks no duties and no consci… The moon goes up by leaps, her che… In some far summer stratum of the… While stars with their cold shine…

Packed in my mind lie all the clot… Which outward nature wears, And in its fashion’s hourly change It all things else repairs. In vain I look for change abroad,

Sending In delinquency To disappoint The amber of water At a high soul

Among the signs of autumn I perce… The Roman wormwood (called by lea… Ambrosia elatior, food for gods,'€… For to impartial science the humbl… Is as immortal once as the proudes…

There is a vale which none hath se… Where foot of man has never been, Such as here lives with toil and s… An anxious and a sinful life. There every virtue has its birth,

Mine are the night and morning, The pits of air, the gull of space… The sportive sun, the gibbous moon… The innumerable days. I hide in the solar glory,

O Nature! I do not aspire To be the highest in thy choir, - To be a meteor in thy sky, Or comet that may range on high; Only a zephyr that may blow

I knew a man by sight, A blameless wight, Who, for a year or more, Had daily passed my door, Yet converse none had had with him…