THE DREAMY rhymer’s measur’d s… Falls heavy on our ears no more; And by long strides are left behin… The dear delights of woman—kind, Who win their battles like their l…

Thou hast not rais’d, Ianthe, suc… In any breast as thou hast rais’d… No wandering meteor now, no marshy… Leads on my steps, but lofty, but… And, if thou chillest me, as chill…

‘Do you remember me? or are you pr… Lightly advancing thro’ her star—t… Ianthe said, and look’d into my ey… ‘A yes, a yes to both: for Memory Where you but once have been must…

Why is, and whence, the Po in fla… In consternation do its borderers… Imploring hands to mortal men arou… And Gods above? Are Gods implaca… Or men bereft of sight at such a b…

Nor empty are the honours that we… To the departed; our own hearts ar… Brimfull with grateful reminiscenc… Compassion is excited; the most st… Relent; and better even the best r…

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…

O’erfoaming with rage The foul—mouth’d judge Page Thus question’d a thief in the doc… “Didst never hear read In the church, lump of lead!

Friends, whom she lookt at blandly… And her white wrist above it, gem—… Were arguing with Pentheusa: she… Report of Creon’s death, whom yea… She listened to, well—pleas’d; and…

God scatters beauty as he scatters… O’er the wide earth, and tells us… A hundred lights in every temple b… And at each shrine I bend my knee…

BORGIA, thou once wert almost t… And high for adoration; now thou ’… All that remains of thee these pla… Calm hair meandering in pellucid g…

THERE is a mountain and a wood b… Where the lone shepherd and late b… Morning and noon and eventide repa… Between us now the mountain and th… Seem standing darker than last yea…

OVER his millions Death has lawf… But over thee, brave D’Ossoli! no… After a longer struggle, in a figh… Worthy of Italy, to youth restor’… Thou, far from home, art sunk bene…

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…

MY hopes retire; my wishes as bef… Struggle to find their resting—pla… The ebbing sea thus beats against… The shore repels it; it returns ag…

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…