This golden head has wit in it. I… Again, and a far higher life, near… Some women like a young philosophe… Perchance because he is diminutive… For woman’s manly god must not exc…

[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…

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…

What soul would bargain for a cure… Contempt the nobler agony to kill? Rather let me bear on the bitter i… And strike this rusty bosom with n… It seems there is another veering…

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

Keen as an eagle whose flight towa… Fearless of toil or fatigue ever r… Vast in the cloud-coloured robes o… Lo! the grand Epic advances, unfo…

The years had worn their seasons’… From bud to rosy prime, Since Nellie by the larch-pole kn… And helped the hop to climb. Most diligent of teachers then,

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

The hundred years have passed, and… Whose name appeased a nation’s fea… As with a hand laid over sea; To thunder through the foeman’s ea… Defeat before his blast of fire;

[Iliad; B. XI V. 378] So he, with a clear shout of laugh… Forth of his ambush leapt, and he… ‘Hit thou art! not in vain flew th… Into the undermost gut, therewith…

O might I load my arms with thee, Like that young lover of Romance Who loved and gained so gloriously The fair Princess of France! Because he dared to love so high,

Of men he would have raised to lig… In soul he conquered with those ne… His country’s pride and her abasem… The Man of England circled by the…

A wicked man is bad enough on eart… But O the baleful lustre of a chi… Once pledged in tyranny! O star o… Darkly illumining a nation’s grief… How many men have worn thee on the…

There stands a singer in the stree… He has an audience motley and meet… Above him lowers the London night… And around the lamps are flaring b… His minstrelsy may be unchaste -

We saw the swallows gathering in t… And in the osier-isle we heard the… We had not to look back on summer… Or forward to a summer of bright d… But in the largeness of the evenin…