Where true Love burns Desire is… It is the reflex of our earthly fr… That takes its meaning from the no… And but translates the language of…
Edmund! thy grave with aching eye… And inly groan for heaven’s poor o… 'Tis tempest all or gloom: in earl… If gifted with the Ithuriel lance… We force to start amid her feigned…
If dead, we cease to be ; if total… Swallow up life’s brief flash for… As summer-gusts, of sudden birth a… Whose sound and motion not alone d… But are their whole of being! If…
Thicker than rain-drops on Novemb…
I know ‘tis but a Dream, yet feel… Than if ’twere Truth. It has been… Must I die under it? Is no one ne… Will no one hear these stifled gro…
My pensive Sara, thy soft cheek r… Thus on mine arm, most soothing sw… To sit beside our cot, our cot o’e… With white-flowered jasmine and th… (Meet emblems they of innocence an…
Water and windmills, greenness, I… Willows whose Trunks beside the s… Of their own higher half, and will… Farmhouses that at anchor seem’d—i… The fog-transfixing Spires—
Verse, a breeze mid blossoms stray… Where Hope clung feeding, like a… Both were mine! Life went a—mayin… With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young!
(Beareth all things.—-1 Cor. xiii… Gently I took that which ungently… And without scorn forgave:—Do tho… A wrong done to thee think a cat’s… Thou wouldst not see, were not thi…
A Conversation Poem, April, 1798 No cloud, no relique of the sunken… Distinguishes the West, no long t… Of sullen light, no obscure trembl… Come, we will rest on this old mos…
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay, It hath not been my use to pray With moving lips or bended knees ; But silently, by slow degrees, My spirit I to Love compose,
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur… Where may the grave of that good m… By the side of a spring, on the br… Under the twigs of a young birch t… The oak that in summer was sweet t…
Near the lone pile with ivy oversp… Fast by the rivulet’s sleep-persua… Where 'sleeps the moonlight’ on yo… O humbly press that consecrated gr… For there does Edmund rest, the l…
If I had but two little wings And were a little feathery bird, To you I’d fly, my dear! But thoughts like these are idle t… And I stay here.
Now as Heaven is my Lot, they’re… Wherever they can come With clankum and blankum 'Tis all Botheration, & Hell… With fun, jeering