#English #XIXCentury #XXCentury
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…
_Illius est nobis lege colendus am… On her own terms, O lover, must t… The heart’s beloved: be she kind,… Cruel, expect no more; not for thy… But for the fire in thee that melt…
‘Is she still beautiful?’ I asked… Who of the unforgotten faces told That for long years I had not loo… ‘Beautiful still-but she is growin… And for a space I sorrowed, think…
‘This hot, hard flame with which o… Will make some meadow blaze with d… Ay! and those argent breasts of th… To water-lilies; the brown fields… Will be more fruitful for our love…
I crossed the orchard, walking hom… The rising moon was at my back, The apples and the moonlight fell Together on the railroad track. Then, speeding through the evening…
There is too much beauty upon this… For lonely men to bear, Too many eyes, too enchanted skies… Too many things too fair; And the man who would live the lif…
The lawless love that would not be… The love that waited, and in waiti… The love that met and mated, satis… Ah, love, ’twas good to climb forb… Who would not follow where his Ju…
I dwell, with all things great and… The green earth and the lustral ai… The sacred spaces of the sea, Day in, day out, companion me. Pure-faced, pure-thoughted, folk a…
When all the world has gone awry, And I myself least favour find With my own self, and but to die And leave the whole sad coil behin… Seems but the one and only way;
I am so fair that wheresoe’er I w… Men yearn with strange desire to k… Stretch out their hands to touch m… And women follow me from place to… A poet writing honey of his dear
You shall not dare to drink this c… Yet fear this other I hold up– Sings Love in Spain: One brimming deep with woman’s bre… This other moon-lit cup is Death;
God of the Wine List, roseate lor… And is it really then good-by? Of Prohibitionists abhorred, Must thou in sorry sooth then die, (O fatal morning of July!)
The woods we used to walk, my love… Are woods no more, But’ villas’ now with sounding nam… All name and door. The pond, where, early on in Marc…
(TO MRS. HENRY HARLAND) Paris, half Angel, half Grisette, I would that I were with thee yet… Where the long boulevard at even Stretches its starry lamps to heav…
Summer gone, Winter here; Ways are white, Skies are clear. And the sun