How low when angels fall their bla… Our primal thunder tells: known is… Of music, that nigh throning wisdo… And one false note cast wailful to… Now seems the language heard of L…

What may the woman labour to confe… There is about her mouth a nervous… 'Tis something to be told, or hidd… I get a glimpse of hell in this mi… She has desires of touch, as if to…

Long with us, now she leaves us; s… Beneath our sacred sod: A woman vowed to Good, whom all a… The daylight gift of God.

‘Sirs! may I shake your hands? My countrymen, I see! I’ve lived in foreign lands Till England’s Heaven to me. A hearty shake will do me good,

It is no vulgar nature I have wiv… Secretive, sensitive, she takes a… Deep to her soul, as if the sense… And not a thought of vengeance had… No confidences has she: but relief

See’st thou a Skylark whose glist… Quiver like pulses beneath the mel… Deep in the heart—yearning distanc… Wisdom and beauty and love are the…

Enter these enchanted woods, You who dare. Nothing harms beneath the leaves More than waves a swimmer cleaves. Toss your heart up with the lark,

A wind sways the pines, And below Not a breath of wild air; Still as the mosses that glow On the flooring and over the lines

Our Islet out of Helgoland, dismi… From his quaint tenement, quits ha… There lived with us a wagging humo… In that hound’s arch dwarf-legged…

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…

1—I When the South sang like a nighti… Above a bower in May, The training of Love’s vine of fl… Was writ in laws, for lord and dam…

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…

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…

She yields: my Lady in her nobles… Has yielded: she, my golden-crownÃ… The bride of every sense! more swe… Who breathe the violet breath of m… O visage of still music in the sky

Pitch here the tent, while the old… By the old hedge—side we’ll halt a… It’s nigh my last above the daisie… My next leaf’ll be man’s blank pag… Yes, my old girl! and it’s no use…