O Sorrow, / Why dost borrow / Heart’s lightness from the merriment of May?
A solitary sorrow best befits / Thy lips, and antheming a lonely grief.
She press’d his hand in slumber; so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.
Out went the taper as she hurried in; / Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died.
A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world
Bright StarBright star, would I were steadfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains...
And she forgot the stars, the moon, and sun/ And she forgot the blue above the trees,/ And she forgot the dells where waters run,/ And she forgot the chilly autumn breeze;/ She had no knowledge when the day was done,/ And the new morn she saw not: but in peace/ Hung over her sweet...
You are always new, The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.
Nor do we merely feel these essences for one short hour no, even as these trees that whisper round a temple become soon dear as the temples self, so does the moon, the passion posey, glories infinite, Haunt us till they become a cheering light unto our souls and bound to us so fast, that...
Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine; His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
She looked at me as she did love, / And made sweet moan.
Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard, are sweeter
To SolitudeO Solitude! if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,— Nature’s observatory—whence the dell, Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell, May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep ’Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap Startles the...
I was never afraid of failure; for I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? / Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies; Or if thy...
Touch has a memory. O say, love, say,What can I do to kill it and be free?
We read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author.
I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest.
There is a budding morrow in midnight, / There is a triple sight in blindness keen.