Imagination cannot rise above thee… Near and afar I see thee, and I l… My misery away from me I thrust i… For thy perfection I behold, and…

Down a warm alley, early in the ye… Among the woods, with all the suns… And all the winds outside it, I b… To think that something gracious w… If anything of grace inhabit here,

If thou hadst been a sculptor, wha… Of forms divine had thenceforth fi… Methinks I see thee, glorious wor… Striking a marble window through b… Thy face’s reflex on the coming fa…

Above my head the great pine-branc… Backwards and forwards each to the… Beckoning the tempest-cloud which… Like a slow-laboured thought, heav… Hark to the patter of the coming s…

The veil hath lifted and hath fall… Who next it stood before us, first… We see not; but between the cherub… The light burns clearer: come-a th… Lord, for thy prophet’s calm comma…

We doubt the word that tells us:… And ye shall have your prayer; We turn our thoughts as to a task, With will constrained and rare. And yet we have; these scanty pray…

I have only one foot, but thousand… My one foot stands well, but never… I’ve a good many arms, if you coun… But hundreds of fingers, large and… From the ends of my fingers my bea…

Look! look there! Send your eyes across the gray By my finger-point away Through the vaporous, fumy air. Beyond the air, you see the dark?

Annie she’s dowie, and Willie he’… What can be the matter wi’ siccan… For Annie she’s fair as the first… And Willie he’s honest and stalwa… Oh, the tane has a daddy is poor a…

I will sing a song, Said the owl. You sing a song, sing-song Ugly fowl! What will you sing about,

I see thy house, but I am blown a… A wind-mocked kite, between the ea… All out of doors-alas! of thy door… And drenched in dews no summer sun… For every blast is passion of my o…

Alas, how easily things go wrong! A sigh too much, a kiss too long, And there follows a mist and weepi… And life is never the same again. Alas, how hardly things go right!

Were thou and I the white pinions On some eager, heaven-born dove, Swift would we mount to the old do… To our rest of old, my love! Were thou and I trembling strands

It is May, and the moon leans dow… Over a blossomy land; Leans from her window a lady white… With her cheek upon her hand. ‘Oh, why in the blue so misty, moo…

In the winter, flowers are springi… In the winter, woods are green, Where our banished birds are singi… Where our summer sun is seen! Our cold midnights are coeval