What! and shall _we_, with such su… As age demands in reverence from t… Await these crumbs of praise from… And doubt of our own greatness til… The signet of your Goethes or Vol…

O Master, if immortals suffer aug… Of sadness like to ours, and in li… And with like overflow of darkened… Disburden them, I know not; but m… What time to day mine ear the utte…

The men who man our batteries, The men who serve our guns, They need not honeyed flatteries, For they are Britain’s sons! They go, when Duty speeds them,

Even as one voice the great sea sa… The green heart of the waters roun… Welled as a bubbling fountain silv… The overflowing song of the great… Until the Prince, by dint of list…

HE sits above the clang and dust… With the world’s secret trembling… He asks not converse or companions… In the cold starlight where thou c… The undelivered tidings in his bre…

Come hither, who grow cloyed to su… With lyric draughts o’ersweet, fro… On Hybla not Parnassus mountain:… With beakers rinsed of the dulcifl… Hither, and see a magic miracle

Low, like another’s, lies the laur… The life that seemed a perfect son… Carry the last great bard to his l… Land that he loved, thy noblest vo… Land that he loved, that loved him…

Last night the seawind was to me A metaphor of liberty, And every wave along the beach A starlit music seemed to be. To-day the seawind is to me

I made a little song about the ros… And sang it for the rose to hear, Nor ever marked until the music’s… A lily that was listening near. The red red rose flushed redder wi…

Friend, in whose friendship I am… A debt not time may cancel is your… For was it not your praise that ea… On me obscure, that chivalrous reg… Ev’n his, who, knowing fame’s firs…

I saunter all about the pleasant p… You made thrice pleasant, O my fr… But you are gone where laughs in r… That thousand-memoried unimpulsive… To storied precincts of the southe…

‘NOT ours,’ say some, 'the though…    Asking no heaven, we fear no fa… Life is a feast, and we have banqu…    Shall not the worms as well? ‘The after-silence, when the feast…

The mighty poets from their flowin… Dispense like casual alms the care… Through throngs of men their lonel… Let fall their costly thoughts, no… Not mine the rich and showering ha…

Our men, they are our stronghold, Our bastioned wall unscaled, Who, against Hate and Wrong, hold This Realm that never quailed; Who bear the noblest burden

Well he slumbers, greatly slain, Who in splendid battle dies; Deep his sleep in midmost main Pillowed upon pearl who lies. Ease, of all good gifts the best,