In the green darkness of a summer… Wherethro’ ran winding ways, a lad… Carved from the air in curving wom… A maiden’s form crowned by a matro… As, about Lammas, wheat-stems may…

Lady! in this night of June Fair like thee and holy, Art thou gazing at the moon That is rising slowly? I am gazing on her now:

With shimmer of steel and blare of… And Switzers marching with martia… And cavaliers trampling brown the… Came bow-legged Charles through t… With black Il Moro for traitor gu…

Kacelyevo’s slope still felt The cannon’s bolt and the rifles’… For a last redoubt up the hill rem… By the Russ yet held, by the Turk… Mehemet Ali stroked his beard;

HE. Halt here awhile. That mossy-cush… Is for your queenliness a natural… As I am fitly couched on this low… Here at your feet.

There was a snow-white lily Grew by a cottage door: Such a white and wonderful lily Never was seen before. The earth and the ether brought it

Good-bye, old year, good-bye! Gentle you were to many as to me, And so we, meditating, sigh, Since what hath been will be, That you must die.

My soul is sunk in all-suffusing s… Yet not for any individual sin, But that the world’s original fair… My own land’s most-is not what it… Shrieks of intolerable bondage smi…

Little maiden just beginning To be comely, arch, and winning, In whose form I catch the traces Of your mother’s gifts and graces, And around whose head the glory

I stand within the Abbey walls, Where soft the slanting sunlight f… In gleams of mellow grace: The organ swells, the anthem soars… And waves of prayerful music pours

Sweet Love is dead: Where shall we bury him? In a green bed, With no stone at his head, And no tears nor prayers to worry…

‘Awake, awake, for the Springtime… March daffodils too long dreaming; The lark is high in the spacious s… And the celandine’s stars are glea… The gorse is ablaze, and the woodl…

Hail! once again, that sweet stron… Loud on my loftiest larch, Thou quaverest with thy mottled th… Brave minstrel of bleak March! Hearing thee flute, who pines or g…

When for one brief dark hour Rome… Felt the sharp shock of Cannae’s… Forum, and field, and Senate-Hous… With cries of nor misgiving nor la… Only of men contending now who sho…

If I to you but sorrow bring, But aching hours and brackish tear… And that poor drooping Hope whose… Flags ‘neath the weight of cloggin… Then let me in the desert hide