Once a dream did weave a shade O’er my angel—guarded bed, That an emmet lost its way Where on grass methought I lay. Troubled, wildered and forlorn,
WELCOME, 1 stranger, to this pl… Where joy doth sit on every bough, Paleness flies from every face; We reap not what we do not sow. Innocence doth like a rose
Is this a holy thing to see In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reduced to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song?
WHEN Old Corruption first begun… Adorn’d in yellow vest, He committed on Flesh a whoredom— O, what a wicked beast! From then a callow babe did spring…
Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be; For the gentle wind doth move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love,
TO be or not to be Of great capacity, Like Sir Isaac Newton, Or Locke, or Doctor South, Or Sherlock upon Death—
Cruelty has a human heart And jealousy a human face, Terror the human form divine, And secrecy the human dress. The human dress is forged iron,
A little black thing among the sno… Crying “weep! 'weep!” in notes of… “Where are thy father and mother?… “They are both gone up to the chur… Because I was happy upon the heat…
I dreamt a dream! What can it me… And that I was a maiden Queen Guarded by an Angel mild: Witless woe was ne’er beguiled! And I wept both night and day,
The wild winds weep And the night is a—cold; Come hither, Sleep, And my griefs infold: But lo! the morning peeps
My mother bore me in the southern… And I am black, but O! my soul is… White as an angel is the English… But I am black, as if bereav’d of… My mother taught me underneath a t…
Memory, hither come, And tune your merry notes; And, while upon the wind Your music floats, I’ll pore upon the stream
Whether on Ida’s shady brow, Or in the chambers of the East, The chambers of the sun, that now From ancient melody have ceas’d; Whether in Heav’n ye wander fair,
PHOEBE drest like beauty’s quee… Jellicoe in faint pea-green, Sitting all beneath a grot, Where the little lambkins trot. Maidens dancing, loves a-sporting,
My silks and fine array, My smiles and languish’d air, By love are driv’n away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: