Bring not your dreams to me— Blown dust, and vapour, and the ru… Saying, ‘He, too, doth dream, Touched of the moon.’ Nay! wouldst thou vanish see

(A Prefatory Sonnet for SANTA LUCIA, the Misses Hodg… Magazine for the Blind) We, deeming day-light fair, and lo… Its forms and dyes, and all the mo…

Silence, whose drowsy eyelids are… And whose half-sleeping eyes are t… On whose still breast the water-li… For all her speech the whisper of… Made of all things that in the wat…

Winter, some call thee fair, Yea! flatter thy cold face With vain compare Of all thy glittering ways And magic snows

Singers all along the street, Singing every kind of song– One man’s song is honey-sweet, One man’s song is hammer-strong; Yet, however sweet the singing,

Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we may, how wise is love— Love grown old and grey with years… Love whose blood is thinned with t… Philosophic lover I,

Winter that hath few friends yet n… Of spirit erect and delicate of ey… All may applaud sweet Summer, wit… And Autumn, with her banners in t… But when from the earth’s cheek th…

I wore my heart upon my sleeve, Tis most unwise, they say, to do— But then how could I but believe The foolish thing was safe with yo… Yet, had I known, ’twas safer far

Crickets calling, Apples falling. Summer dying, Life is flying. So soon over–

Away from the silent hills and the… of upland waters, The high still stars and the lonel… in her quarters, I fly to the city, the streets, th…

Sore in need was I of a faithful… And it seemed to me that life Had come to its much desired end– Just then God gave me a wife. I had seen the beauty of fairy thi…

The Rose has left the garden, Here she but faintly lives, Lives but for me, Within this little urn of pot-pour… Of all that was

Fragoletta, blessed one, What think you of the light of the… Do you think the dark was best, Lying snug in mother’s breast? Ah! I knew that sweetness, too,

May is building her house. With a…    She is roofing over the glimmer… Of the oak and the beech hath she…    And, spinning all day at her se… With arras of leaves each wind-swa…

What are my books?—My friends, my… My church, my tavern, and my only… My garden: yea, my flowers, my bee… My only doctors—and my only health…