I think she sleeps: it must be sle… Hangs that abandoned arm toward th… The face turned with it. Now make… Sleep on: it is your husband, not… The Poet’s black stage-lion of wr…

I am to follow her. There is much… In woman when thus bent on martyrd… They think that dignity of soul ma… Perchance, with dignity of body.… But I was taken by that air of co…

No, no, the falling blossom is no… Of loveliness destroy’d and sorrow… The blossom sheds its loveliness d… Its mission is to prophecy the fru… Nor is the day of love for ever de…

Keen as an eagle whose flight towa… Fearless of toil or fatigue ever r… Vast in the cloud-coloured robes o… Lo! the grand Epic advances, unfo…

Love within the lover’s breast Burns like Hesper in the west, O’er the ashes of the sun, Till the day and night are done; Then when dawn drives up her car -

At the coming up of Phoebus the a… Double-visaged stand the mountains… And with shadows dappled men sing… For they shudder chill, the earth-… black;

Demeter devastated our good land, In blackness for her daughter snat… Smoke-pillar or loose hillock was… Where soil had been to clasp warm… The wheat, vine, olive, ripe to S…

It ended, and the morrow brought t… Her eyes were guilty gates, that l… By shutting all too zealous for th… Each sucked a secret, and each wor… But, oh, the bitter taste her beau…

O skylark! I see thee and call th… Thy wings bear thee up to the brea… I see thee no more, but thy song i… The tongue of the heavens to me! Thus are the days when I was a bo…

Men the Angels eyed; And here they were wild waves, And there as marsh descried; Men the Angels eyed, And liked the picture best

The senses loving Earth or well o… Ravel yet more the riddle of our l… The mind is in their trammels, and… By trimming fear-bred tales; nor d… To find in nature things which les…

How died Melissa none dares shape… A woman who is wife despotic lords Count faggot at the question, Sha… Her son, because his brows were bl… Runs barking for his bread, a fugi…

He rises and begins to round, He drops the silver chain of sound Of many links without a break, In chirrup, whistle, slur and shak… All intervolv’d and spreading wide…

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…

Captive on a foreign shore, Far from Ilion’s hoary wave, Agamemnon’s bridal slave Speaks Futurity no more: Death is busy with her grave.