Down in a shaded garden I laid upon earth my head: The deep trees murmured, darkly fr… Over my bed; I looked through living leaves to…

No more of sorrow, the world’s old… Nor war of thronging spirits numbe… Immortal ardours in brief days con… No more the languid fever of manki… To—day I sing: ’tis no melodious…

On greenest grass the lace of ligh… Beneath the shadowing tree Trembles, as when eyes more than l… Are smiling silently. Its motion all but motionless

In misty blue the lark is heard Above the silent homes of men; The bright-eyed thrush, the little… The yellow-billed sweet-voiced bla… Mid sallow blossoms blond as curd

Be ruthless, then; scorn slaves of… The blow, planned with such patien… So terribly; hack on, and care not… The innocent fall; live out your f… Then you speak speech that we can…

Out of first sleep as they awoke The moon had stolen upon her face. It seemed that they had opened eye… New on another world and place. The eyes of each the other sought

A wondrous rumour fills and stirs The wide Carmanian Vale; On leafy hills the sunburnt vintag… Stand listening; silent is the ech… Upon the threshing—floors:

Warm, the deserted evening Closes over the moor. Was it here we walked and were mer… Only an hour before? Magic light in the west

Where is the land that fathered, n… The sap of a strong race into your… Land of wide tilth, of farms and g… Of old towers chiming over peacefu… It is become a vision, barred away

Splendours of sunset burned upon t… As from the lane’s deep shade Emerging, a warm grassy plat we fo… Skirting the forest glade, And in the midst a solitary oak.

As in the dusty lane to fern or fl… Whose freshness in hot noon is dri… Sweet comes the dark with a full—f… And again breathes the new—washed,… So when the thronged world round m…

Pure—throated Flower, Smelling of Spring, Shaped beyond art’s Imagining; Fathomless colour,

Coiled in shadow, the serpent seas Engirdle perilous hills sublime: By tortuous, steep degrees Toward the morn I climb. Before me the mountain soaring vas…

Sweet after labour, soft and whisp… Blows on dark fields and fragrant… Here there is sleep, to weary limb… The world is far away, the stars a… The world is far away: but there,…

At Tiro, in her father’s tower, The young Cristina had her bower, Over blue Bolsena’s lake, Where small frolic ripples break Under a grove of sycamore