A Microcosm In Terza Rima Quiet I lay at last, and knew no… Whether I breathed or not, so wor… With the death-struggle. What was… Neither I met, nor turned from it…

Methinks I see thee, lying straig… Silent and darkling, in thy earthy… The mighty strength in which I tr… The long arms lying careless of ki… On thy tall form I see the night-…

Father, in the dark I lay, Thirsting for the light, Helpless, but for hope alway In thy father-might. Out of darkness came the morn,

Hark, in the steeple the dull bell… Over the furrows ill ploughed by… Hark the bird-babble, the loud lar… Hark, from the sky, what the proph… Hark, in the pines, the free Wind…

I missed him when the sun began to… I found him not when I had lost h… With many tears I went in search… Climbing high mountains which did… And gave me echoes when I called…

I cannot praise thee. By his inst… The master sits, and moves nor foo… For see the organ-pipes this, that… Leaning, o’erthrown, like wheat-st… I well could praise thee for a flo…

Power that is not of God, however… Is but the downward rushing and th… Of a swift meteor that hath lost i… In the one impulse which doth anim… The parent mass: emblem to me of f…

The flush of green that dyed the d… Hath vanished in the moon; Flower-scents float stronger out,… An unborn, coming tune. One southern eve like this, the de…

REMEMBER, Lord, thou hast not… Or if thou didst, it was so long a… I have forgotten-and never underst… I humbly think. At best it was a… A rough-hewn goodness, that did ne…

Dead art thou? No more dead than… Over whose couch the saving God d… ‘She is not dead but sleepeth,’ sa… And took her by the hand! Thee knowledge never from Life’s…

My thoughts are like fire-flies, p… My heart like a silver cup, filled… My soul a pale gleaming horizon, w… Will flood the gold earth with a t…

Lawrence, what though the world be… And twilight cool thy potent day i… The sun, beneath the round earth s… All the night through, sleepless a… Oh, be thy spirit faithful as the…

Ah, truant, thou art here again,… For in a season of such wretched w… I thought that thou hadst left us… Although I could not choose but f… Skulking about the hill-tops, when…

It is no winter night comes down Upon our hearts, dear friends of o… But a May evening, softly brown, Whose wind is rather cold. We are not, like yon sad-eyed Wes…