Woolner and Stephens, Collinson,… And my first brother, each and eve… What portion is theirs now beneath… Which, even as here, in England m… For most of them life runs not the…

TURN not the prophet’s page, O… All that Thou hast to suffer, and… Not yet Thine hour of knowledge.… The sorrows that Thy manhood’s lo… And dire acquaintance of Thy grie…

Is it the moved air or the moving… That is Life’s self and draws my… And by instinct ineffable decree Holds my breath quailing on the bi… Nay, is it Life or Death, thus th…

“I love you, sweet: how can you ev… How much I love you?” “You I lov… And so I learn it.” “Sweet, you c… How fair you are.” “If fair enoug… Your love, so much is all my love’…

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.

This sunlight shames November whe… In dead red leaves, and will not l… The day, though bough with bough b… But with a blessing every glade re… High salutation; while from hilloc…

THERE’S a female bard, grim as… Who daily grows shakier and shakie…

This word had Merlin said from of… That out of the Oak Tree Shade In the day of France’s direst dul… God’s hand should send a Maid. And where Domremy, by Burgundy,

THESE little firs to—day are thi… To clasp into a giant’s cap, Or fans to suit his lady’s lap. From many winters many springs Shall cherish them in strength and…

18th November 1852 “VICTORY!” So once more the cry must be. Duteous mourning we fulfil In God’s name; but by God’s will,

Sometimes thou seem’st not as thys… But as the meaning of all things t… A breathless wonder, shadowing for… Some heavenly solstice hushed and… Whose unstirred lips are music’s v…

What thing unto mine ear Wouldst thou convey,—what secret t… O wandering water ever whispering? Surely thy speech shall be of her. Thou water, O thou whispering wan…

Because our talk was of the cloud—… And moon—track of the journeying f… Her tremulous kisses faltered at l… And her eyes dreamed against a dis… But soon, remembering her how brie…

THE thoughts in me are very calm… That think upon your love: yet by… You shall not greatly marvel that… Or nightfall—yet scarce nightfall—… Leaves me thus sad. Now if you as…

Is Memory most of miseries misera… Or the one flower of ease in bitte…