#English #Women
"To see my love suffices me."… —Ballades in Blue China. Some men to carriages aspire; On some the costly hansoms wait; Some seek a fly, on job or hire;
She, who so long has lain Stone-stiff with folded wings, Within my heart again The brown bird wakes and sings. Brown nightingale, whose strain
Ere all the world had grown so dre… When I was young and you were her… ‘Mid summer roses in summer weathe… What pleasant times we’ve had toge… We were not Phyllis, simple-sweet…
Cruel? I think there never was a… More cruel, thro’ all the weary da… This is no dream, my heart kept on… But sober certainty of waking blis… Dreams? O, I know their faces—goo…
Two terrors fright my soul by nigh… The first is Life, and with her c… A weary, winding train of maidens… With forward-fronting eyes, too sa… Upon whose kindred faces, blank an…
Back to the mystic shore beyond th… The mystic craft has sped, and lef… Ah, nevermore may she behold his f… Nor touch his hand, nor hear his v… With hidden front she crouches; al…
O is it Love or is it Fame, This thing for which I sigh? Or has it then no earthly name For men to call it by? I know not what can ease my pains,
Straw in the street where I pass… Dulls the sound of the wheels and… ’Tis for a failing life they lay Straw in the street. Here, where the pulses of London…
To B. T. Dead-tired, dog-tired, as the vivi… Fails and slackens and fades away.… The sky that was so blue before With sudden clouds is shrouded o’e…
(From Lenau.) If within my heart there’s mould, If the flame of Poesy And the flame of Love grow cold, Slay my body utterly.
Now is the perfect moment of the y… Half naked branches, half a mist o… Vivid and delicate the slopes appe… The cool, soft air is neither fier… And in the temperate sun we feel n…
O say, thou wild, thou oft deceive… What mean these noisy throbbings i… After thy long, unutterable woe Wouldst thou not rest? Fall’n from Life’s tree the sweet…
Not in the street and not in the s… The street and square where you we… With shuttered casement your house… Men hush their voice when they spe… I, too, can play at the vain prete…
(After Heine.) The sad rain falls from Heaven, A sad bird pipes and sings ; I am sitting here at my window And watching the spires of “King’…
If I were a woman of old, What prayers I would pray for you… My pitiful tribute behold— Not a prayer, but a tear. The pitiless order of things,
