Yet it was plain she struggled, an… Of righteous feeling made her piti… Poor twisting worm, so queenly bea… Where came the cleft between us? w… My tears are on thee, that have ra…

He rises and begins to round, He drops the silver chain of sound Of many links without a break, In chirrup, whistle, slur and shak… All intervolv’d and spreading wide…

To sit on History in an easy chai… Still rivalling the wild hordes by… Sure, this beseems a race of lagga… Unwarned by those plain letters sc… If more than hands’ and armsful be…

The song of a nightingale sent thr… Low-lidded with twilight, and tran… Tranced with a tender enchantment;… That wins immortality even while p…

There were three maidens met on th… The sun was down, the night was la… And two sang loud with the birds o… O the nightingale is merry with it… Said they to the youngest, Why wa…

1—I In middle age an evil thing Befell Archduchess Anne: She looked outside her wedding-rin… Upon a princely man.

Lakes where the sunsheen is mystic… Vales where sweet life is all Sum… Forests that glimmer with twilight… Here in our May-blood we wander,… knights.

Not vainly doth the earnest voice… Call for the thing that is his pur… Fame is the birthright of the livi… To noble impulse Nature puts no b… Nor vainly to the Sphinx thy voic…

[Written for the Charing Cross A… Seen, too clear and historic withi… Frown when the Autumn days strike… They of our mortal diseases find n… Errors they of the soul, past the…

On my darling’s bosom Has dropped a living rosy bud, Fair as brilliant Hesper Against the brimming flood. She handles him,

A message from her set his brain a… A world of household matters fille… Wherein he saw hypocrisy designed: She treated him as something that… And but at other provocation bites…

Now farewell to you! you are One of my dearest, whom I trust: Now follow you the Western star, And cast the old world off as dust… From many friends adieu! adieu!

Never, O never, Since dewy sweet Flora Was ravished by Zephyr, Was such a thing heard In the valleys so hollow!

I stood at the gate of the cot Where my darling, with side-glance… Would spy, on her trim garden-plot… The busy wild things chase and lur… For these with their ways were her…

Prince of Bards was old Aneurin; He the grand Gododin sang; All his numbers threw such fire in… Struck his harp so wild a twang; - Still the wakeful Briton borrows