’Twas at that hour of beauty when… squandereth his cloudy bed with ro… his lov’d works as in turn he bidd… and all the towers and temples and… face him in bright farewell, ere t…

I love all beauteous things, I seek and adore them; God hath no better praise, And man in his hasty days Is honoured for them.

I have lain in the sun I have toil’d as I might, I have thought as I would, And now it is night. My bed full of sleep,

Love not too much. But how, When thou hast made me such, And dost thy gifts bestow, How can I love too much? Though I must fear to lose,

When Death to either shall come,'… I pray it be first to me,'€” Be happy as ever at home, If so, as I wish, it be. Possess thy heart, my own;

The evening darkens over After a day so bright, The windcapt waves discover That wild will be the night. There’s sound of distant thunder.

Since now from woodland mist and f… I am fled beside the steep Devoni… Nor stand for welcome at your goth… ‘Neath the fair tower of Magdalen… Such tribute, Warren, as fond poe…

They that in play can do the thing… Having an instinct throned in reas… —And every perfect action hath the… Of indolence or thoughtless hardih… These are the best: yet be there w…

When men were all asleep the snow… Stealthily and perpetually settlin… Hushing the latest traffic of the… Deadening, muffling, stifling its… Lazily and incessantly floating do…

Perfect little body, without fault… With promise of strength and manho… Though cold and stark and bare, The bloom and the charm of life do… Thy mother’s treasure wert thou;—a…

There is a hill beside the silver… Shady with birch and beech and odo… And brilliant underfoot with thous… Steeply the thickets to his floods… Straight trees in every place

Sense with keenest edge unusèd, Yet unsteel’d by scathing fire; Lovely feet as yet unbruisèd On the ways of dark desire; Sweetest hope that lookest smiling

Belov’d of all to whom that Muse… Who hid her spirit of rapture from… Whereby our art excelleth the anti… Perfecting formal beauty to the ea… Thou that hast been in England ma…

Beautiful must be the mountains wh… And bright in the fruitful valleys… Ye learn your song: Where are those starry woods? O m… Among the flowers, which in that h…

The day begins to droop,— Its course is done: But nothing tells the place Of the setting sun. The hazy darkness deepens,