Friend, when you bear a care-dulled eye, And brow perplexed with things of weight… And fain would bid some charm untie The bonds that hold you all too strait, Behold a solace to your fate,

AH! leave the smoke, the wealth, the ro… Of London, leave the bustling street, For still, by the Sicilian shore, The murmur of the Muse is sweet. Still, still, the suns of summer greet

Ye giant shades of RA and TUM, Ye ghosts of gods Egyptian, If murmurs of our planet come To exiles in the precincts wan Where, fetish or Olympian,

This life—one was thinking to-day, In the midst of a medley of fancies - Is a game, and the board where we play Green earth with her poppies and pansies… Let manque be faded romances,

The hours are passing slow, I hear their weary tread Clang from the tower, and go Back to their kinsfolk dead. Sleep! death’s twin brother dread!

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of ol… Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tre… The west wind breathes upon them, pure a… And wolves still dread Diana roaming fr… In secret woodland with her company.

The ferox rins in rough Loch Awe, A weary cry frae ony toun; The Spey, that loups o’er linn and fa’, They praise a’ ither streams aboon; They boast their braes o’ bonny Doon:

In torrid heats of late July, In March, beneath the bitter bise, He book-hunts while the loungers fly, He book-hunts, though December freeze; In breeches baggy at the knees,

I know Cythera long is desolate; I know the winds have stripp’d the garde… Alas, my friends! beneath the fierce sun… A barren reef lies where Love’s flowers… Nor ever lover on that coast is seen!

When Lent and Responsions are ended, When May with fritillaries waits, When the flower of the chestnut is splen… When drags are at all of the gates (Those drags the philosopher 'slates’

The man whom once, Melpomene, Thou look’st on with benignant sight, Shall never at the Isthmus be A boxer eminent in fight, Nor fares he foremost in the flight

Rome does right well to censure all the… Talk of Jansenius, and of them who prea… That earthly joys are damnable! ’Tis pl… We need not charge at Heaven as at a br… No, amble on! We’ll gain it, one and al…

The dust of Carthage and the dust Of Babel on the desert wold, The loves of Corinth, and the lust, Orchomenos increased with gold; The town of Jason, over-bold,

There are laddies will drive ye a ba’ To the burn frae the farthermost tee, But ye mauna think driving is a’, Ye may heel her, and send her ajee, Ye may land in the sand or the sea;

He lived in a cave by the seas, He lived upon oysters and foes, But his list of forbidden degrees, An extensive morality shows; Geological evidence goes

We built a castle in the air, In summer weather, you and I, The wind and sun were in your hair, - Gold hair against a sapphire sky: When Autumn came, with leaves that fly

While others are asking for beauty or fa… Or praying to know that for which they s… Or courting Queen Venus, that affable d… Or chasing the Muses the weary and grey… The sage has found out a more excellent…

Money taketh town and wall, Fort and ramp without a blow; Money moves the merchants all, While the tides shall ebb and flow; Money maketh Evil show

“‘Dead and gone,’—a sorry burden of the… Say, fair maids, maying In gardens green, In deep dells straying, What end hath been

There’s a joy without canker or cark, There’s a pleasure eternally new, ’Tis to gloat on the glaze and the mark Of china that’s ancient and blue; Unchipp’d all the centuries through

Nay, tell me now in what strange air The Roman Flora dwells to-day. Where Archippiada hides, and where Beautiful Thais has passed away? Whence answers Echo, afield, astray,

Nay, be you pardoner or cheat, Or cogger keen, or mumper shy, You’ll burn your fingers at the feat, And howl like other folks that fry. All evil folks that love a lie!

Far in the Past I peer, and see A Child upon the Nursery floor, A Child with books upon his knee, Who asks, like Oliver, for more! The number of his years is IV,

The soft wind from the south land sped, He set his strength to blow, From forests where Adonis bled, And lily flowers a-row: He crossed the straits like streams that…

When these Old Plays were new, the Kin… Beside the Cardinal’s chair, Applauded, 'mid the courtly ring, The verses of Moliere; Point-lace was then the only wear,

Here stand my books, line upon line They reach the roof, and row by row, They speak of faded tastes of mine, And things I did, but do not, know: Old school books, useless long ago,

Swift as sound of music fled When no more the organ sighs, Sped as all old days are sped, So your lips, love, and your eyes, So your gentle-voiced replies

Fair islands of the silver fleece, Hoards of unsunned, uncounted gold, Whose havens are the haunts of Peace, Whose boys are in our quarrel bold; OUR bolt is shot, our tale is told,

Where smooth the southern waters run By rustling leagues of poplars grey, Beneath a veiled soft southern sun, We wandered out of yesterday, Went maying through that ancient May

Not Jason nor Medea wise, I crave to see, nor win much lore, Nor list to Orpheus’ minstrelsies; Nor Her’cles would I see, that o’er The wide world roamed from shore to shor…

The modish Airs, The Tansey Brew, The SWAINS and FAIRS In curtained Pew; Nymphs KNELLER drew,

Who have loved and ceased to love, forge… That ever they loved in their lives, the… Only remember the fever and fret, And the pain of Love, that was all his… All the delight of him passes away

Here I’d come when weariest! Here the breast Of the Windburg’s tufted over Deep with bracken; here his crest Takes the west,

As, to the pipe, with rhythmic feet In windings of some old-world dance, The smiling couples cross and meet, Join hands, and then in line advance, So, to these fair old tunes of France,

Your hair and chin are like the hair And chin Burne-Jones’s ladies wear; You were unfashionably fair In '83; And sad you were when girls are gay,

Thine eyes are like the sea, my dear, The wand’ring waters, green and grey; Thine eyes are wonderful and clear, And deep, and deadly, even as they; The spirit of the changeful sea

“And now am I greatly repenting that ev… ’Tis thought Odysseus when the strife w… With all the waves and wars, a weary whi… Grew restless in his disenchanted isle, And still would watch the sunset, from t…

Homer, thy song men liken to the sea With all the notes of music in its tone, With tides that wash the dim dominion Of Hades, and light waves that laugh in… Around the isles enchanted; nay, to me

Dead—he is dead! The rouge has left a t… On that thin cheek where shone, perchanc… Even while the people laughed that held… But yesterday. He died,—and not in grac… And many a black-robed caitiff starts ap…

The wail of Moschus on the mountains cr… The Muses heard, and loved it long ago; They heard the hollows of the hills repl… They heard the weeping water’s overflow; They winged the sacred strain—the song u…

Now the bright crocus flames, and now The slim narcissus takes the rain, And, straying o’er the mountain’s brow, The daffodilies bud again. The thousand blossoms wax and wane

The winter is upon us, not the snow, The hills are etched on the horizon bare… The skies are iron grey, a bitter air, The meagre cloudlets shudder to and fro. One yellow leaf the listless wind doth b…

Apollo left the golden Muse And shepherded a mortal’s sheep, Theocritus of Syracuse! To mock the giant swain that woo’s The sea-nymph in the sunny deep,

‘Once Cagn was like a father, kind and… But He was spoiled by fighting many thi… He wars upon the lions in the wood, And breaks the Thunder-bird’s tremendou… But still we cry to Him,—'We are thy br…

AS one that for a weary space has lain Lull’d by the song of Circe and her win… In gardens near the pale of Proserpine, Where that Aeaean isle forgets the main… And only the low lutes of love complain,

Ah, mystic child of Beauty, nameless ma… Dateless and fatherless, how long ago, A Greek, with some rare sadness overwei… Shaped thee, perchance, and quite forgot… Or Raphael thy sweetness did bestow,

The Fays that to my christ’ning came (For come they did, my nurses taught me)… They did not bring me wealth or fame, ’Tis very little that they brought me. But one, the crossest of the crew,

Mysterious Benedetta! who That Reynolds or that Romney drew Was ever half so fair as you, Or is so well forgot? These eyes of melancholy brown,

A pleasant land is Scribie, where The light comes mostly from below, And seems a sort of symbol rare Of things at large, and how they go, In rooms where doors are everywhere

Ah, listen through the music, from the s… The 'melancholy long-withdrawing roar’; Beneath the Minster, and the windy cave… The wide North Ocean, marshalling his w… Even so forlorn—in worlds beyond our ken…

In the Morning of Time, when his fortun… How bleak, how un-Greek, was the Nature… From his wigwam, if ever he ventured to… There was nobody waiting to welcome him… For the Man had been made, but the woma…

The painted Briton built his mound, And left his celts and clay, On yon fair slope of sunlit ground That fronts your garden gay; The Roman came, he bore the sway,

In twilight of the longest day I lingered over Lucian, Till ere the dawn a dreamy way My spirit found, untrod of man, Between the green sky and the grey.

St. Andrews by the Northern sea, A haunted town it is to me! A little city, worn and grey, The grey North Ocean girds it round. And o’er the rocks, and up the bay,

The call of homing rooks, the shrill Song of some bird that watches late, The cries of children break the still Sad twilight by the churchyard gate. And o’er your far-off tomb the grey

Our youth began with tears and sighs, With seeking what we could not find; Our verses all were threnodies, In elegiacs still we whined; Our ears were deaf, our eyes were blind,

Just one cast more! how many a year Beside how many a pool and stream, Beneath the falling leaves and sere, I’ve sighed, reeled up, and dreamed my d… Dreamed of the sport since April first

Light has flown! Through the grey The wind’s way The sea’s moan Sound alone!

When strawberry pottles are common and c… Ere elms be black, or limes be sere, When midnight dances are murdering sleep… Then comes in the sweet o’ the year! And far from Fleet Street, far from her…

Between the moonlight and the fire In winter twilights long ago, What ghosts we raised for your desire To make your merry blood run slow! How old, how grave, how wise we grow!