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…

“WHY wilt thou cast the roses fro… Nay, be thou all a rose,—wreath, l… Nay, not this house,—that banquet—… See how they kiss and enter; come… This delicate day of love we two w…

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…

As growth of form or momentary gla… In a child’s features will recall… The father’s with the mother’s fac… Sweet interchange that memories st… And yet, as childhood’s years and…

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…

On this sweet bank your head thric… I lay, and spread your hair on eit… And see the newborn wood flowers b… Look through the golden tresses he… On these debateable borders of the…

A Sonnet is a moment’s monument, Memorial from the Soul’s eternity To one dead deathless hour. Look… Whether for lustral rite or dire p… Of its own arduous fulness reveren…

Could you not drink her gaze like… Yet though its splendour swoon Into the silence languidly As a tune into a tune, Those eyes unravel the coiled nigh…

Master of the murmuring courts Where the shapes of sleep convene!… Lo! my spirit here exhorts All the powers of thy demesne For their aid to woo my queen.

Each hour until we meet is as a bi… That wings from far his gradual wa… The rustling covert of my soul,—hi… Still loudlier trilled through lea… But at the hour of meeting, a clea…

I never reared a young Wombat To glad me with his pin—hole eye, But when he most was sweet & fat And tail—less; he was sure to die!

AH yes, exactly so; but when a ma… Has trundled out of England into… And half through Belgium, always… Of steam, and still has stuck to h… Blank verse or sonnets; and as he…

The gloom that breathes upon me wi… Is like the drops which strike the… Who knows not, darkling, if they b… Fresh storm, or be old rain the co… Ah! bodes this hour some harvest o…

What smouldering senses in death’s… Or seizure of malign vicissitude Can rob this body of honour, or de… This soul of wedding—raiment worn… For lo! even now my lady’s lips di…

ROSE—SHEATHED beside the ros… Lurks the young adder’s tooth; Milk—mild from new—born hemlock—bl… The earliest drops are wrung: And sweet the flower of his first…