You like not that French novel? T… You think it quite unnatural. Let… The actors are, it seems, the usua… Husband, and wife, and lover. She… In England we’ll not hear of it.…

With Alfred and St. Louis he dot… Grander than crowned head’s mortua… His gentle heroic manhood enters i… The ever-flowering common heart fo…

Sprung of the father blood, the mo… Are they who point our pathway and… They rarely meet; one soars, one w… When they do meet, it is our earth… To see Life’s formless offspring…

’Tis true the wisdom that my mind… Through contemplation from a heart… By many tempests may be stained an… The summer flies it mightily attra… Yet they seem choicer than your so…

Unhappy poets of a sunken prime! You to reviewers are as ball to ba… They shadow you with Homer, knock… With Shakespeare: bludgeons brain… On you the excommunicates of Rhym…

We who have seen Italia in the th… Half risen but to be hurled to gro… Like a ripe field of wheat where o… All bounteous as she is fair, we t… Who blew the breath of life into h…

The old grey Alp has caught the c… And the torrent river sings aloud; The glacier-green Rosanna sings An organ song of its upper springs… Foaming under the tiers of pine,

It is the season of the sweet wild… My Lady’s emblem in the heart of… So golden-crownèd shines she glor… And with that softest dream of blo… Mild as an evening heaven round H…

Fleck of sky you are, Dropped through branches dark, O my little one, mine! Promise of the star, Outpour of the lark;

Strike not thy dog with a stick! I did it yesterday: Not to undo though I gained The Paradise: heavy it rained On Kobold’s flanks, and he lay.

Under what spell are we debased By fears for our inviolate Isle, Whose record is of dangers faced And flung to heel with even smile? Is it a vaster force, a subtler gu…

Beneath the vans of doom did men p… Heroic who came out; for round the… A wavering phantom’s red volcano t… With league-long lizard tail and f… II.

Of me and of my theme think what t… The song of gladness one straight… But I have never stood at Fortune… Were she and her light crew to run… At my poor holding little would be…

[Iliad, B. I. V. 149] ‘Heigh me! brazen of front, thou g… Servant here to thy mandates, heed… Either the mission hie on or stout… I, not hither I fared on account…

[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…