Death stands above me, whispering… I know not what into my ear: Of his strange language all I kno… Is, there is not a word of fear.
The Gadite men the royal charge o… Now fragments weighed up from th’… Leave the ground black beneath; ag… Shines into what were porches, and… Once warm with frequentation—clien…
WHEN Helen first saw wrinkles in… (’T was when some fifty long had s… And intermarried and branch’d off… She threw herself upon her couch a… On this side hung her head, and ov…
Life (priest and poet say) is but… I wish no happier one than to be l… Beneath some cool syringa’s scente… Or wavy willow, by the running str… Brimful of Moral, where the Drago…
Sophocles: Thou goest then, and l… Aeschylos: Nay, say not so. Whose is the hand that now is pres… A hand I may not ever press again… What glorious forms hath it brough…
Mother, I cannot mind my wheel; My fingers ache, my lips are dry: Oh! if you felt the pain I feel! But oh, who ever felt as I? No longer could I doubt him true;
FOURTH BOOK. The king’s lone road, his visit, h… Were not unknown to Dalica, nor l… The wondrous tale from royal ears… When the young queen had heard who…
THE WISEST of the wise Listen to pretty lies And love to hear them told; Doubt not that Solomon Listen’d to many a one,—
Life (priest and poet say) is but… I wish no happier one than to be l… Beneath a cool syringa’s scented s… Or wavy willow, by the running str… Brimful of moral, where the dragon…
When the buds began to burst, Long ago, with Rose the First I was walking; joyous then Far above all other men, Till before us up there stood
The Year’s twelve daughters had i… Of measured pace tho’ varying mien… Some froward, some sedater, some a… For festival, some reckless of att… The snow had left the mountain—top…
WE are what suns and winds and wa… The mountains are our sponsors, an… Fashion and win their nursling wit… But where the land is dim from tyr… There tiny pleasures occupy the pl…
In Clementina’s artless mien Lucilla asks me what I see, And are the roses of sixteen Enough for me? Lucilla asks, if that be all,
MILD is the parting year, and sw… The odour of the falling spray; Life passes on more rudely fleet, And balmless is its closing day. I wait its close, I court its glo…
“ARTEMIDORA! Gods invisible, While thou art lying faint along t… Have tied the sandal to thy veined… And stand beside thee, ready to co… Thy weary steps where other rivers…