This feast—day of the sun, his alt… In the broad west has blazed for v… And I have loitered in the vale t… And gaze now a belated worshipper. Yet may I not forget that I was '…

Look in my face; my name is Might… I am also call’d No—more, Too—lat… Unto thine ear I hold the dead—se… Cast up thy Life’s foam—fretted f… Unto thine eyes the glass where th…

Consider the sea’s listless chime: Time’s self it is, made audible,— The murmur of the earth’s own shel… Secret continuance sublime Is the sea’s end: our sight may pa…

O thou who at Love’s hour ecstati… Unto my heart dost evermore presen… Clothed with his fire, thy heart h… Whom I have neared and felt thy b… The inmost incense of his sanctuar…

PEACE in her chamber, wheresoe’e… It be, a holy place: The thought still brings my soul s… As morning meadows wear. Whether it still be small and ligh…

DID she in summer write it, or in… Or with this wail of autumn at her… Or in some winter left among old y… Scratched it through tettered cark… That round her heart the frost was…

I said: “Nay, pluck not,—let the… Even as thou sayest, it is sweet a… But let it ripen still. The tree’… Sees in the stream its own fecundi… And bides the day of fulness. Sha…

A PIPPO Pipistrello Farfalla la fanciulla: “O vedi quanto è bello Ridendo in questa culla! E noi l’abbiamo fatto,

IN this new shade of Death, the s… Passes me still of form and face; Some bent, some gazing as they go, Some swiftly, some at a dull pace, Not one that speaks in any case.

Beauty like hers is genius. Not t… Of Homer’s or of Dante’s heart su… Not Michael’s hand furrowing the… Is more with compassed mysteries m… Nay, not in Spring’s or Summer’s…

When vain desire at last and vain… Go hand in hand to death, and all… What shall assuage the unforgotten… And teach the unforgetful to forge… Shall Peace be still a sunk strea…

The mother will not turn, who thin… Her nursling’s speech first grow a… But breathless with averted eyes e… She sits, with open lips and open… That it may call her twice. 'Mid…

In France (to baffle thieves and… A journey takes two days of passpo… At least. The plan’s sometimes a… But bears its fruit. Because, the… In passing by the Morgue, we saw…

Sometimes she is a child within mi… Cowering beneath dark wings that l… With still tears showering and ave… Inexplicably filled with faint ala… And oft from mine own spirit’s hur…

First Snow, February WOOLNER, to—night it snows for… Our feet know well the path where… Mine leave one track: how all the… Are hoary in the long—unwonted rim…