She walks in beauty, like the nigh
Of cloudless climes and starry ski
And all that’s best of dark and br
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,

A little East of Jordan,
Evangelists record,
A Gymnast and an Angel
Did wrestle long and hard—
Till morning touching mountain—

There be none of Beauty’s daughte
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing

If you can keep your head when all
Are losing theirs and blaming it o
If you can trust yourself when all
But make allowance for their doubt
If you can wait and not be tired b

They christened my brother of old—
And a saintly name he bears—
They gave him his place to hold
At the head of the belfry—stairs,
Where the minster—towers stand

Ah! What avails the classic bent
And what the cultured word,
Against the undoctored incident
That actually occurred?
And what is Art whereto we press

Over the edge of the purple down,
Where the single lamplight gleams,
Know ye the road to the Merciful
That is hard by the Sea of Dreams
Where the poor may lay their wrong

‘What are the bugles blowin’ for?'
‘To turn you out, to turn you out,
‘What makes you look so white, so
‘I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to wa
…

The Garden called Gethsemane
In Picardy it was,
And there the people came to see
The English soldiers pass.
We used to pass—we used to pass

You may talk o’ gin and beer
When you’re quartered safe out ’er
An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the
And thro’ the field the road runs
To many—tower’d Camelot;

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the
And thro’ the field the road runs
To many—tower’d Camelot;

Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could
The thoughts that arise in me.
O, well for the fisherman’s boy,

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems as

Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel, an
Turn thy wild wheel thro’ sunshine
Thy wheel and thee we neither love
Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel wit
With that wild wheel we go not up

Late, late, so late! and dark the
Late, late, so late! but we can en
Too late, too late! ye cannot ente
No light had we: for that we do re
And learning this, the bridegroom

With blackest moss the flower-plot
Were thickly crusted, one and all:
The rusted nails fell from the kno
That held the pear to the gable-wa
The broken sheds look’d sad and st

With one black shadow at its feet,
The house thro’ all the level shin
Close—latticed to the brooding hea
And silent in its dusty vines:
A faint—blue ridge upon the right,

That was I, you heard last night,
When there rose no moon at all,
Nor, to pierce the strained and ti
Tent of heaven, a planet small:
Life was dead and so was light.

Oh Galuppi, Baldassaro, this is v
I can hardly misconceive you; it w
But although I take your meaning,

Would that the structure brave, th
Bidding my organ obey, calling its
Claiming each slave of the sound,
Armies of angels that soar, legion

Oh, good gigantic smile o’ the bro
This autumn morning! How he sets
To bask i’ the sun, and thrusts ou
For the ripple to run over in its
Listening the while, where on the

Christ God who savest man, save m
Of men Count Gismond who saved me
Count Gauthier, when he chose his
Chose time and place and company
To suit it; when he struck at leng

Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flow
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted

Dosn’t thou ‘ear my ’erse’s legs,
Proputty, proputty, proputty—that’
Proputty, proputty, proputty—Sam,
Theer’s moor sense i’ one o’ 'is l
Woä— …

Wheer 'asta beän saw long and meä
Noorse? thoort nowt o’ a noorse: w
Says that I moänt 'a naw moor aäl
Git ma my aäle, fur I beänt a—gaw
Doctors, they …

You ask me, why, tho’ ill at ease,
Within this region I subsist,
Whose spirits falter in the mist,
And languish for the purple seas.
It is the land that freemen till,

Roman Virgil, thou that singest
Ilion’s lofty temples robed in fir
Ilion falling, Rome arising,
wars, and filial faith, and Dido’s
Landscape—lover, lord of language

The wind, that beats the mountain,
More softly round the open wold,
And gently comes the world to thos
That are cast in gentle mould.
And me this knowledge bolder made,

The splendour falls on castle wall
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the l
And the wild cataract leaps in glo
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild ec

Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,

Ask me no more: the moon may draw
The cloud may stoop from heaven an
With fold to fold, of mountain or
But O too fond, when have I answe
Ask me no more.

Home they brought her warrior dead
She nor swoon’d nor utter’d cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
“She must weep or she will die.”
Then they praised him, soft and lo