The silent shepherdess, She of my vows, Here with me exchanging love Under dim boughs. Shines on our mysteries
Have you spent the money I gave y… Ay, father I have. A fourpence on cakes, two pennies… To a beggar I gave. The lake of yellow brimstone boil…
Cronos the Ruddy, steer your boat Toward Silver Island whence we si… Here you shall pass your days. Through a thick—growing alder—wood We clearly see, but are not seen,
Here down this very way, Here only yesterday King Faun went leaping. He sang, with careless shout Hurling his name about;
On her shut lids the lightning fli… Thunder explodes above her bed, An inch from her lax arm the rain… Discrete she lies, Not dead but entranced, dreamlessl…
A page, a huntsman and a priest of… Her lovers, met in jealous contrar… Equally claiming the sole parentho… Of him the perfect crown of their… Then, whom to admit, herself she c…
At Viscount Nelson’s lavish funer… While the mob milled and yelled ab… A General chatted with an Admiral… “One of your colleagues, Sir, rem… That Nelson’s exit, though to be…
Father is quite the greatest poet That ever lived anywhere. You say you’re going to write grea… I chose that first: it’s unfair. Besides, now I can’t be the great…
The great sun sinks behind the tow… Through a red mist of Volnay wine… But what’s the use of setting down That glorious blaze behind the tow… You’ll only skip the page, you’ll…
As Jesus and his followers Upon a Sabbath morn Were walking by a wheat field They plucked the ears of corn. They plucked it, they rubbed it,
Entrance and exit wounds are silve… The track aches only when the rain… The one—legged man forgets his leg… The one—armed man his jointed wood… The blinded man sees with his ears…
This valley wood is pledged To the set shape of things, And reasonably hedged: Here are no harpies fledged, No rocs may clap their wings,
His eyes are quickened so with gri… He can watch a grass or leaf Every instant grow; he can Clearly through a flint wall see, Or watch the startled spirit flee
My familiar ghost again Comes to see what he can see, Critic, son of Conscious Brain, Spying on our privacy. Slam the window, bolt the door,
Lost manor where I walk continual… A ghost, while yet in woman’s fles… Up your broad stairs mounting with… And gliding steadfast down your co… I come by nightly custom to this r…