In youth, it was a way I had To do my best to please, And change, with every passing lad… To suit his theories. But now I know the things I know,

There was a rose that faded young; I saw its shattered beauty hung Upon a broken stem. I heard them say, “What need to c… With roses budding everywhere?”

The Lives and Times of John Keat… Percy Bysshe Shelley, and George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron Byron and Shelley and Keats Were a trio of Lyrical treats.

There’s many and many, and not so… Is willing to dry my tears away; There’s many to tell me what you a… And never a lie to all they say. It’s little the good to hide my he…

When first we saw the apple tree The boughs were dark and straight, But never grief to give had we, Though Spring delayed so late. When last I came away from there

Hope it was that tutored me, And Love that taught me more; And now I learn at Sorrow’s knee The self-same lore.

By the time you swear you’re his, Shivering and sighing, And he vows his passion is Infinite, undying— Lady, make a note of this:

Lady, lady, never start Conversation toward your heart; Keep your pretty words serene; Never murmur what you mean. Show yourself, by word and look,

Upon the work of Walter Landor I am unfit to write with candor. If you can read it, well and good; But as for me, I never could.

It costs me never a stab nor squir… To tread by chance upon a worm. “Aha, my little dear,” I say, “Your clan will pay me back one da…

I’m wearied of wearying love, my f… Of worry and strain and doubt; Before we begin, let us view the e… And maybe I’ll do without. There’s never the pang that was wo…

When you are gone, there is nor bl… Nor singing sea at night, nor silv… And I can only stare, and shape m… In little words. I cannot conjure loveliness, to dr…

Oh, I’d been better dying, Oh, I was slow and sad; A fool I was, a-crying About a cruel lad! But there was one that found me,

If it shine or if it rain, Little will I care or know. Days, like drops upon a pane, Slip, and join, and go. At my door’s another lad;

All her hours were yellow sands, Blown in foolish whorls and tassel… Slipping warmly through her hands; Patted into little castles. Shiny day on shiny day