The misery is greater, as I live! To know her flesh so pure, so keen… That she does penance now for no o… Save against Love. The less can… The less can I forgive, though I…

To them that knew her, there is vi… In these the simple letters of her… To them that knew her not, be it b… So strong a spirit is not of the d…

A breath of the mountains, fresh b… That look with their eye-daring su… The voice of great Nature; sublim… Yet earnest and simple as any swee…

Their sense is with their senses a… Destroyed by subtleties these wome… More brain, O Lord, more brain! o… Utterly this fair garden we might… Behold! I looked for peace, and t…

What say you, critic, now you have… An author and maternal?—in this tr… (To quote you) of poor hollow folk… On instruments as like as drum to… You snarled tut-tut for welcome to…

Spirit of Russia, now has come The day when thou canst not be dum… Around thee foams the torrent tide… Above thee its fell fountain, Pri… The senseless rock awaits thy word

Blue July, bright July, Month of storms and gorgeous blue; Violet lightnings o’er thy sky, Heavy falls of drenching dew; Summer crown! o’er glen and glade

I, wakeful for the skylark voice i… Or straining for the angel of the… Rebuked am I by hungry ear and si… When I behold one lamp that throu… Goes hourly where most noisome; he…

The long cloud edged with streamin… Soars from the West; The red leaf mounts with it away, Showing the nest A blot among the branches bare:

[Iliad; B. XI V. 378] So he, with a clear shout of laugh… Forth of his ambush leapt, and he… ‘Hit thou art! not in vain flew th… Into the undermost gut, therewith…

‘I play for Seasons; not Eterniti… Says Nature, laughing on her way.… All those whose stake is nothing m… And lo, she wins, and of her harmo… She is full sure! Upon her dying…

Hawk or shrike has done this deed Of downy feathers: rueful sight! Sweet sentimentalist, invite Your bosom’s Power to intercede. So hard it seems that one must ble…

See the sweet women, friend, that… The ever-falling fountain of green… Round the white bending stem, and… Of our most blushful flower shine… To teach philosophers the thirst o…

Thus piteously Love closed what h… The union of this ever—diverse pai… These two were rapid falcons in a… Condemned to do the flitting of th… Lovers beneath the singing sky of…

When I would image her features, Comes up a shrouded head: I touch the outlines, shrinking; She seems of the wandering dead. But when love asks for nothing,